


each and every day (of the year)

by bruce_the_shark



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, dick winters for president 2k16, idk what else to put this is my first thing on here omg, implied offscreen homophobia, joe just needs to be himself, luz still loves him anyways, mentioned offscreen homophobia, no ones dead let me put it that way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:51:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruce_the_shark/pseuds/bruce_the_shark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe grins, lifts his hand from George’s hip to grip him by the chin, twists his face around to catch his lips in a bruising kiss. George relishes in it, likes how the taste of Joe’s preferred brand of liquor mixes with the taste of his own on his tongue. He grins against Joe’s lips, knows it’s going to be a good year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are my own as is the knowledge that this is in no way the greatest thing ever written, but I do hope it gives you some feels. 
> 
> Inspired by Neil Sedaka's "Calendar Girl" and related Deadpool scenes.
> 
> Nothing but my utmost respect and love for the real men of Easy Company, thank you for your service and legacy xx

*** January**

Joe Toye and George Luz welcome the New Year with a blowjob and a sloppy fuck in the unisex bathroom of their favorite bar with someone beating against the door as their friends count down the seconds until midnight. George has a hand braced against the mirror and doesn’t know which to look at more, his own flushed face or Joe’s reflection. The dark pockets of the other man’s eyes, the concentrated scrunch of his forehead, the bead of sweat trailblazing down his neck. George reaches behind him with a moan, loops his fingers loosely around Joe’s wrist where his hand is gripping George’s hip, laughs deliriously as the crowd passes the eight second mark.

“Hey, Joe.” George breathes, smiles over his shoulder. Joe just acknowledges him with a grunt, snaps his hips forward harder, makes George keen.

“Joe.” George breathlessly tries again, hears them pass five seconds.

“Fuck, Luz.” Joe pants out, folds himself over George’s back, noses at his neck.  “What?”

George laughs, can’t help himself, leans his forehead against the coolness of the mirror in front of him, closes his eyes as Joe purples his neck with a bite. “Guess New York isn’t the only place where balls drop for the New Year, huh?” He giggles as cries of _Happy New Year!_ erupt from the other side of the door, the person banging on it long since given up.

Joe stills behind him, pants harshly. “Luz.” He gets out between pulls of air, right up next to his ear. “The fuck?” He huffs out a laugh, nuzzles at George’s neck as he slowly starts back up, tortures him with the sweetest little swivels of his hips.

“I don’t even know, Joe.” George groans as _Auld Lang Syne_ echoes through the air vent. “Fuckin’ happy New Year, buddy.”

“Happy New Year, Georgie.” Joe grins, lifts his hand from George’s hip to grip him by the chin, twists his face around to catch his lips in a bruising kiss. George relishes in it, likes how the taste of Joe’s preferred brand of liquor mixes with the taste of his own on his tongue. He grins against Joe’s lips, knows it’s going to be a good year.

 

**** February**

George’s halfway shitfaced, well on his way to completely if the blonde haired guy with an uneven undercut at the end of the bar has any say in the matter. George tries to eye him inconspicuously, tries to gauge whether or not the unevenly shaved sides of his head are supposed to be aesthetic or not. Honestly, he kind of thinks it looks like shit, but he’s a sucker for pouty lips and soulful eyes and undercut here has at least one of those things.

The bartender rolls her eyes as she sits another drink down in front him, subtly nods her head to let George know where it’s coming from and quirks an eyebrow. He’s not too sure of her name, knows it starts with an R, knows she always looks out for him when shit gets too deep. Clearly he comes here too much, but what can he say, The 506 is like a second home to them all.

“Single on this lovely day of days?” She asks with a quirk of her lips, finds busy work in the early evening lull of customers. George grins at her, picks up the still halfway full glass in front of him, eyes the new one skeptically.

“Can ya tell?” He asks wryly, smiles when Rose, or Ruby, or Rachel gives a small huff of laughter. George idly thinks she knows good ole Doc Roe, sees her sometimes on campus darting in or out of a building. “What about you? Got someone to go home to? Someone to celebrate the _love_ with?” He waggles his eyebrows, swirls the amber liquid in his glass, takes glee in the immediate flush of the girl’s cheeks. She clears her throat, tries to shrug it off nonchalantly and George immediately wants a miniature version of her to keep in his pocket.

Or maybe the alcohol in him does. He’s not sure.

“There may be someone picking me up in a little bit.” She offers mysteriously with a smile, makes George duck his head and grin from secondhand joy. He senses her form move down the bar, hears her greet someone as he finishes up what’s left in his glass.

“The fuck are you doin’ here?” The barstool next to him screeches as someone tugs it out and slides into the empty space next to him. “I’ve seen it all now.” The voice continues to grump and George looks over, takes in an angry looking Joe Toye jerking harshly at the tie knotted tightly around his neck, a pile of wool coat wadded up next to him on the counter.

“Joe?” George asks dumbly, glances over his shoulder to see if any other guys trailed in with him. “Where’d you come from?”

Joe side eyes him, smiles in what George can only label as relief when a tall glass of dark beer is sat down before him. “Had me a date for the evenin’.” Joe explains between sips. “My ma set it up, of all people, Jesus Christ.” He grimaces, jerks again at his tie. “Daughter of one of her church friends.” He shudders, gives up on the satiny fabric and slumps where he sits.

“Take it you didn’t get far.” George teases gleefully, twists in his seat and doesn’t even try to hide the appraising slide of his gaze up and down Joe’s lithe form, whistles appreciatively. “Dressed the nines like that how could a girl say no?”

“She didn’t, I did.” Joe huffs, pats at his pockets looking for what George knows is a pack of smokes. “Fuckin’ dull as shit, Luz, I’m tellin’ ya, we couldn’t have been more opposite. I had more in common with the homeless guy outside on the patio than I did with her.” He shakes his head, plants his elbows on the bar top when it’s clear his pockets are completely devoid of nicotine.

George digs out his own pack, wobbly offers it out with a small smile when Joe just looks at him. “She cute at least?” He asks as Joe takes one, smiles when the other man colors a little bit at whatever he’s thinking while George fishes out his lighter.

“Yeah, she was.” He nods as George struggles to get his fingers to work. “Had these eyes, ya know? Big and bright. Little dress with hearts on it like a walkin’ Valentine’s Day card or some shit.” He rolls his eyes, leans into the flame finally cupped in George’s palm, puffs until the end of his cigarette catches and glows cherry.

“Don’t sound too bad.” George nods, fumblingly lights up himself and dumps both pack and lighter next to his glass. “Should have gone for it.” He jigs his eyebrows, pulls the condensating glass waiting at the edge of the bar towards him, traces little smiley faces in the beads of water with the tip of his finger, feels Joe’s eyes on him the whole time.

“Nah.” The other man says eventually, takes a drag of his cigarette. “My ma just don’t seem to get it that I’m…ya know.” He shrugs, surreptitiously glances around at the relatively empty bar.

“Not into girls right now?” George guesses lightly, looks up with what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Joe looks at him for a long second, eventually quirks his lips before looking away with a shake of his head.

“Somethin’ like that.” He confirms quietly as a faint shadow falls over their small section of bar.

“Gentlemen,” George’s fair haired booze fairy greets with a tight smile, “sorry to interrupt, but I think someone’s waiting for an answer.” She says pointedly with a look at George and the untouched glass in front of him.

“The hell you talkin’ bout, Renee?” Joe asks, and yeah, that’s her name George thinks, completely misses the looks they’re both giving him.

“George here has spent the last hour and a half playing footsy with the gentleman at the end of bar.” Renee explains with a roll of her eyes as George makes a noise of complaint.

“It’s not actually footsie if we’re at opposite ends of a table. Bar. Whatever.” George waves her off, looks at Joe for backup only to find him with an oddly boxed up expression on his face.

“Some random’s liquorin’ ya up?” Joe asks quietly. “Tryin to take ya home?”

George shrugs, pokes at his lighter with a scrunched up face. “I guess, I mean.” He feels himself blush slightly, looks everywhere but to his right. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea, I haven’t, ya know, since like last month.” He says in a rush, shoots Renee a glare at the thinly veiled laugh she coughs into her fist. “Not since New Year’s.” He admits so quietly he doesn’t think Joe hears him.

Looking up he sees differently. Joe must clearly remember some bits and pieces of what happened, maybe the ones that match up with George’s own. They stare at each other, should probably talk about it. They don’t.

“So which one is it?” Joe asks after so long George feels like someone’s jabbed at a pause button. “Blondie or Bieber?” He asks after a quick glance over his shoulder with a quirked brow.

George opens his mouth, gets cut off by Renee. “The blonde, with the shitty undercut.” George can’t help but make a face of agreement. “He’s been watching him like a hawk, smells like cheap cologne, too.” She continues, wrinkles her nose. “He just seems…intense.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” George slurs slightly, almost slips off his barstool at the velocity with which Joe rounds on him, eyes blazing.

“He’s been boozin’ ya up to get ya alone, Luz, he’s a goddamn creeper.”

“Hey now.” George stops him with a wobbly held up finger. “He’s willin’, I’m willin’, you’re kind of ruinin’ this for me, Joe.”

“Fuckin’ Christ.” Joe mutters, rips out his wallet and flops some bills on the table, points at George’s empty glass to which Renee just shakes her head. “C’mon, Luz, let’s get ya home.” He jerks his head towards the door, slides off his stool.

“Wait, what?” George shakes his head, looks at Renee who just throws both hands up, clearly placating him. “Hey, stop it.” He tries to bat off the hand tugging at his shoulder, gets batted at back, idly thinks of that Angry Beavers cartoon he used to watch when he was little and giggles a bit.

“M’takin’ you home, asshole, let’s go.” Joe says, swipes George’s lighter and pack of smokes from the bar, pockets them before pulling George from his stool, gripping his bicep to steady him as he staggers to his feet.

“Really not necessary, Joe.” George explains as he’s chaperoned towards the door, digs in his pocket for his car keys. “I’m fine, really.”

“The fuck you aren’t.” Joe says quietly, firmly. “You’re bein’ baited and you know it, you’re just desperate enough to be thinkin’ with ya dick and not ya brain.”

And wow. That’s really uncalled for and George opens his mouth to tell him so before he’s suddenly jerked backwards.

“Yo, man, what’s the deal?” Blondie’s in his face, breath harsh against his cheek and grip even harsher around his other arm. “I kept buyin’ you all them drinks and this is the thanks I get?” He demands and George is literally in the middle of a tug of war, feels bad for every rope that’s ever been used in a game. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Joe’s there, eyes blazing, peeling the other man’s fingers free from George’s arm with a hedgy look about him.

“He don’t owe you nothin’ asshole, so why don’t you let him be?” He asks, pushes himself further in between them, stretches to his full height. 

“Yeah?” Blondie scoffs, gives Joe a head to toe glare. “This don’t concern you, so why don’t you just GTFO?”

George makes a face, can tell Joe’s making one himself, is proven right when he glances at him over his shoulder with a raised brow and mischief in his eyes.

“Luz.” Joe states, and yup, that’s laughter in Joe’s voice. “This fucker seriously just say an acronym to me?”

George giggles, fists a hand in the back of Joe’s black button up to stay upright. “I believe he just did.” He confirms, giggles again as he shifts from foot to foot, misses the punch Blondie throws but feels it when his grip on Joe’s suddenly jolted.

“Fuckin’ hell!” He yelps, tries to steady them both only to be shoved away as Joe raises his own fist and squarely lands a punch to the other guy’s face. He howls in pain, stumbles back into a table with his hands covering his nose and George belatedly realizes he’s wearing khaki seersucker shorts with little pink sailboats on them. In the middle of February.

“Jesus, Joe, I was gonna let _that_ fuck me!” He exclaims stupidly as he’s once again gripped around the arm and dragged out the door, Joe yelling an apology over his shoulder to Renee who George can see waving them off as she makes her way over to Blondie, towel in hand.

It’s cold out on the street, George shivering in his hoodie as he’s pulled down the sidewalk, an angrily muttering Joe Toye shaking his head in front of him.

“Joe, wait, wait.” George forces the other man to stop, shrugs out of his grip. “You forgot your coat.” He realizes lamely.

“Gee, George, I wonder why.” Joe hisses, steps into his space. “Maybe if you were usin’ your fuckin’ brain I wouldn’t have, ya know?”

George swallows hard, glances down like a little kid caught doing something naughty, clears his throat as he looks back up at the anger bright face in front of him. “Your face is a little…” He hears himself say, lifts a hand to gently touch at the red mark marring the side of Joe’s winter white face. They stare at each other for a long second, Joe still tense with anger and George sobered ever so marginally, the odd kind of stillness only winter brings muting the world around them. “I’m sorry.” George apologizes in a whisper.

Joe deflates a little, reaches up to pull George’s hand from his face. “Quit it.” He says, voice still firm despite the gentle growing look in his eyes. “No one fucks with my friends, even if they’ve got a fuckin’ snowball for a brain.” He quirks his lips.

George’s own twitch in response. “Thanks, then, for protecting my virginity and stuff.” He shrugs. “Honor?” He tries, furrows his brows, hears Joe give a small snort.

“I know goddamn well you ain’t no virgin, Luz.” Joe shakes his head. “If you still are after New Year’s then I think we’ve got a problem.”

George laughs, kicks at the slush at his feet. “Yeah, no, you made sure of that, Joe.” He shakes his head, rubs a hand at his face. “But ya know…” He trails off, peeks at Joe. “We could always make double sure. For science. See what this whole Valentine’s Day thing’s about?”

Joe doesn’t laugh or glare or slap at him like he’s expecting, just levels him with a flat look as he works his jaw, shivers slightly. “You’re drunk, Luz. Wouldn’t be right.” Is what he eventually says.

“I seem to recall being pretty shitfaced last time, too. We both were.” George points out with a wry smile. “It wouldn’t be right if I didn’t offer and you didn’t ask, but here we are.” He raises his eyebrows. “So whatcha gonna do, Joe? Gonna make an honest woman out of me on this celebrated day of commercial love and overpriced chocolate?”

Joe rolls his eyes with a huff, once again grips at George’s arm to pull him along, this time noticeably softer. “You and that goddamn Jack Sparrow logic, I swear to god.” George hears him say as they cross the street to Joe’s car. “I’ll bring ya back in the mornin’ for ya ride, yeah?” Joe asks over the hood as the horn sounds twice and the doors unlock.

George grins like the cat that got the canary, pulls open the passenger door. “Damn, Joe, you sure know how to treat a lady. Got breakfast in bed planned too?” He winks.

“Fuck off.” Joe huffs as he gets in but George sees him grin, can see the remnants of adrenaline still in the tension of his shoulders, makes his own plans on how to best work that out when they get back to Joe’s place as he gets in and buckles up for the ride, Joe bitching away next to him about bottle blondes and acronyms.  

 

***** March**

The party is Muck’s brainchild, nurtured and natured along with Penkala and Malarkey himself, which Joe isn’t really surprised by considering the man’s a ginger. And this St. Paddy’s Day bash is dedicated to all those in possession of a ginger heart and soul.

Joe snorts, shakes his head as Babe gallops across the bar, a kid sized plastic green bowler hat crooked on his head, the black elastic string gouging out marks on his cheeks. Joe flicks at his own, torn off his head practically as soon as Muck snapped it on him much to everyone’s amusement. Across from him Bill’s turned around in his chair, whistling with his fingers in his mouth as someone starts up a chant of _Chug! Chug! Chug!_ with his hat still firmly on his head.

The door bangs open behind them and he looks over, the last few stragglers of their group making their way in, done with either work or classes for the night. Web’s pulling his scarf from his neck, waves at Joe when he catches his eye, turns back to look at the room at large no doubt looking for Liebgott.

Joe squints in thought, wonders exactly what the hell is going on there and then questions if he really wants to know. He doesn’t. Kind of really does. Damn it.

Ron is shrugging out of his coat as well, jamming his hat and gloves into one of the pockets so as not to lose them, nodding along with whatever George is yammering on about next to him. Joe shakes his head, can’t help but grin as George pitches his voice in some kind of imitation that manages to get a grin out of the quiet man, wishes he could have heard it.

Ron says something back, gives George what looks like a hearty slap on the shoulder, saunters off towards the bar where Joe can see Lip sitting at the bar, nursing the same beer he started with an hour ago. Joe expects George to follow him, instead looks up to find him navigating the maze of tables to the one he and Bill have set up camp at.

“Top o’ the evenin’ to ya, gents!” George grins, accent just as ridiculous as he is. Joe rolls his eyes as Bill twists around to slap their hands together in a friendly shake.

“Luz, man, where’d ya come from?” He asks, adjusts his hat with one hand and lifts his beer with the other. “Ya late.”

George grins lazily, winks over at Joe as he digs out his smokes. “There were these chicks on campus, right, had a kissing booth and everything. Spreading the Irish love and all, you’d be late, too.” George smirks as Bill stares, beer paused inches from his lips.

“No shit, really?”

“Fuck no!” George laughs. “Damn, Gonorrhea, drunk already? Usually you make me work for it, but here you are, handing out the gullible for free.”

Joe laughs, can’t help it, laughs even more when Bill just blinks once, twice, realizes he’s being messed with. “Fuck ya, Luz.” He huffs, no real heat behind it and George just grins, seems to have trouble finding his lighter.

“Dude, you got a light?” He asks Bill, but Joe’s already got his own out, motioning for him to lean across the table. Bill shotguns the rest of his beer, slams his empty glass down on the table as George tries to get his cigarette to catch. “You fuckers want anythin’? I’m goin’ in.” Bill jerks his head towards the bar where a large majority of their friends have marked their claim. George waves him off as he leans back in his seat, takes a long drag of his cigarette as Joe just holds up his empty bottle and gives it a wiggle.

“So what’ve I’ve missed?” George asks, slumps down in his chair until his head’s scrunched into his chest and shoulders like a turtle. Joe takes in the dark circles under the other man’s eyes, the overall tired look about him, realizes he’s never seen him so deflated compared to his usual air of seam splitting energy. It’s kind of unsettling.

He shakes his head, grabs George’s pack of smokes from the table and helps himself, hears no complaint. “Hurricane Nixon’s already come and gone, Winters had to drag him out by his collar. Apparently pre-gamed while Dick was still in class.” Joe relays with a smirk.

“Jesus.” George gives a small bark of laughter. “Did he really need to leave, though? I mean he’s been pretty blitzed other times too and Dick’s always been able to handle him.”

Joe’s shaking his head before George’s even finished talking. “He was green, Luz.”

George just makes a confused face at him as he takes a drag, furrows his brows.

“Body paint.” Joe deadpans. “Nix rolled in here painted head to toe green with fuckin’ Mardi Gras beads and a rainbow fro, looked like a goddamn drag queen version of the Green Giant.” Joe huffs, smiles as George doubles over in laughter, cigarette held aloft above the table.

“Fuckin’ hell.” George says in between pulls of air. “I fuckin’ missed it!”

“Nah,” Joe grins, “I’m like ninety-nine percent sure there’s video, some probably already up on god knows where.”

George slowly straightens back up, wipes at his eyes with his free hand as Bill shoulders his way back through the crowd to join them.

“Joe.” He offers out a beer, sits a steaming coffee mug down in front of George. “Web said you’d probably need that.” He nods at the mug George’s already picked up, sniffing at it critically.

“What’d you all do to it?” He asks skeptically and Joe grins. They each know better than to just accept a seemingly innocent present, food or otherwise.

“Nothin!” Bills swears, takes a sip from his newly acquired tumbler. “Except maybe a shot of Kahlua or two.” He shrugs after brief thought. George just rolls his eyes, shakes his head, takes a small sip and sighs.

“Thanks, Bill. Love the hat, by the way.” George salutes with his cigarette and Bill snorts, picks up Joe’s discarded one and tosses it into George’s chest.

“There, now we can match.” He winks. “This fucker here’s bein’ a party pooper.” He jerks his head at Joe.

“Fuck off.” Joe rolls his eyes, cranes his head to see around Bill when Lieb’s voice sounds suddenly above the dull roar of the bar. Bill and George look too, but it’s Bill who shoulders his way back through the crowd to get a front row seat to what’s suspiciously sounding like one of Web and Lieb’s daily domestics.

“Kids.” George deadpans across from him, hat perched precariously on his head when Joe turns to look at him. “Can’t take ‘em anywhere.”

Joe snorts, salutes him with his beer as George stubs out his butt in the ashtray on the table, wraps both hands around his mug and breathes in the steam. Joe watches him quietly, feels like something’s up.

“Whatcha need that for?” He nods his head at the dingy porcelain. “Goin’ out after this?”

George looks at him then down at his mug, back to Joe. “Huh?” He asks stupidly. “Oh, no.” He seems to realize. “No, I’m headin’ back to the library to get some stuff finished up before the weekend since the lab closes early tomorrow.”

Joe raises his eyebrows, makes a considering face. “That’s so adult of ya, Luz, didn’t know ya had it in ya.”

George grins, flicks him off as someone storms past their table in a blur of movement, slams the door behind them. They look at each other in question then back towards the general crowd milling about as an exasperated looking Web politely excuses himself around people, pauses by their table.

“Alright, Web?” Joe quirks a brow, peripherally sees George smile into his mug. Web looks at him, looks at George, shakes his head with a sigh.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He runs a hand through his hair, takes a step towards the door, stops when George lazily throws out a hand.

“Let him be, he’ll be back.” He advises sagely. “It’s how he’s wired.” Web attempts a grin, gives the door a puppy eyed look of hurt, turns back into the crowd.

“Kids.” George repeats as he watches him go. “What can ya do?”

“You’re right when you’re right, Luz.” Joe shakes his head.

“Yeah.” George agrees, makes a face at his coffee. “But I’m not the one who’ll be gettin’ a blowjob later as a prelude to the makeup sex.”

Joe chokes on his beer, pushes back from the table as he thumps at his chest, sloshes more over his hand. “Motherfucker.” He coughs out as George laughs. “The fuck, Luz?” He wheezes, snatches at the napkins feebly offered out once he’s mostly gotten his shit together.

“Your face, Joe.” George grins, shakes his head. “Priceless.”

Joe levels him with unimpressed glare, forces his lips not to twitch as George gives another little titter of laughter as he sets his mug aside. “C’mon.” He jerks his head towards the bar. “We’ll bust through, get you to the bathroom, there’s beer all down your shirt, you pig.”

“Gee, George, I wonder why.” Joe snaps, pockets his phone and George’s smokes as he stands and follows him into the melee. He sticks close to the shorter man, hooks a finger in the back pocket of his jeans at the threat of separation until they break through to their merry group of friends monopolizing the space directly in front of the large screen TV.

“George Luz!” Buck booms, practically elbows Joe out of the way as he snatches George into a head lock, Bull slinging an arm around Joe’s shoulders from the side. “Where the hell you boys been?” Bull rumbles quietly, gives Joe a little shake.

“They’ve been back by the door nursin’ each other.” Bill rolls his eyes before throwing back a shot, Babe following immediately after as an unimpressed Gene looks on. Joe sincerely hopes Babe didn’t take Bill up on any kind of dare, sees that he has if the mini tower of empty shot glasses between them is anything to go by.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” George is saying as he stumbles into Joe, finally free of Buck. “He was spouting that bullshit off last week and I had to set him straight.” He’s arguing as Joe loops a loose arm around his waist as people ebb and flow around them. Joe realizes Bull’s drifted away just as quietly as he came when he turns and finds an empty spot where he stood, takes it for the exit it is and pulls George along with him towards the narrow hallway that leads back the bathrooms. He exchanges a nod with Lip when they pass by, almost gets smacked in the face by the high five Malarkey drunkenly throws out at random, gets saved by George managing to catch it in time.

George slips free of his arm as they start down the hallway and Joe pauses, looks at him with a frown.

“What?” George asks, makes like he’s going to head back out to the others.

“Thought ya were comin’ to help.” Joe licks his lips. “I’m sticky cause of you in the first place.”

“You’re a big boy, Joe, I’m sure you can handle yourself.” George grins, reaches out to pluck at the tacky neck of Joe’s tee, takes a teasing step back.

“Never know, Luz, I ain’t much for laundry.” Joe tuts, shoots out a hand to fist at the front of George’s sweater to haul him down the hall and through the open door of the men’s room with a grin. George’s face is the textbook definition of mind blown as he fumbles to shut the door behind him before Joe’s shoving him back against it and sinking to his knees.

“Jesus, Joe, what the hell?” He gasps as his back twitches against the grainy wood and Joe glances up at him through his lashes.

“Why you actin’ like you ain’t never had a blowjob before? We both know that noise ain’t real.” Joe grins wickedly as he pops open the fly of George’s skinny jeans with one hand and jerks down the zipper with his other.

“Shit.” George breathes above him, scrabbles at the door. “You sure about this, Joe, I mean, what the fuck. You even interested?”

Joe pauses with his fingertips curled over the top of George’s burgundy boxer briefs, looks up at him with a gentler grin.

“I have no fuckin’ clue how long that mess out there is gonna last.” Joe nods towards the door. “I’m probably gonna be here all night, especially since its Thursday and none of those assholes have any classes tomorrow.” Joe explains, gives George’s underwear a teasing little tug. “You’re headin’ out in a bit, right?”

George stares at him like he’s crazy, but he nods his head. “Yeah, in a bit.”

“So.” Joe shrugs as carelessly as someone on their knees can. “Think of this as a party favor for all the shit you’re gonna miss.”

“And the shit I already have?” George grins, quirks an eyebrow.

Joe makes a considering face, shrugs again as he tugs George’s underwear down completely. “That too.” He concludes as he takes George’s length in his hand and gives it a few experimental tugs that has George’s head banging back against the door, lips forming a wordless moan. Joe grins up at him, curls his free hand around the warm jut of George’s naked hip, leans forward to mouth at the tip as George keens above him.

Fingers clench and dig into his shoulders as Joe shifts, takes George’s length in earnest, feels the other man’s full body twitch as he work his jaw and attempts a swallow.

“Jesus.” George gasps a Joe pulls off for a breath, shuffles on his knees a bit. “Can I…?” He breathes, lifts a hand and holds it questioningly above Joe’s head. Joe nods, wets his lips as he reaches up and pushes George’s fingers into the thick, short strands of his hair.

“You’re gonna wanna hold on for this.” Joe quips sharply, grips at George’s other hip with his free hand and swallows him down in one hot breath. George curses above him, smacks his free hand over his mouth as Joe adds the lightest tease of teeth over sensitive skin and George’s fingers clench in his hair, hips jerking against Joe’s thumbs. Joe glances up at him through his lashes, takes in the flushed skin of his neck and cheeks, his heaving chest. He works his jaw again, feels a moan bubble its way up from George’s diaphragm before breathlessly escaping around the edges of the hand clamped over his mouth.

“Joe.” He mumbles a few pounding heartbeats later, tugs at Joe’s hair. “Joe, I’m—”

Joe cuts him off with a sharp suck, tongues roughly at a spot just to left behind George’s tip. George tugs more urgently, says something in a rush as Joe smacks away his hand and gives one more final suck that has George slapping both hands flat against the door and Joe swallowing down his mess, pulling back when he’s sure he’s gotten it all.

George stares at him with a dopey grin, eyes glazed but still watching as Joe thumbs at the corner of his mouth, licks his lips as he stretches his jaw.

“Joe Toye.” George huffs out with laughter in his voice. “You dirty bastard.”

Joe smirks, tucks George back into his boxer briefs and does up his jeans, uses his hips to ladder himself back up to eye level. “Happy Saint Paddy’s Day, ya fuckin’ leprechaun.” Joe leans in to nip at George’s neck. “You better get goin’ before the library closes.” He grins, pulls back to pinch at the black elastic string still holding George’s little green hat to his head, lets it snap back against his cheek.

George laughs quietly, lets himself fall forward into Joe’s broad chest as he catches his breath. “Give me a second, Jesus. You’re an animal, Joe.” He says into the still damp neckline of Joe’s tee, breathes in the leftover smell of hops mixed with sweat and Joe’s cologne.

Joe pets at the back of his head, fingers the fine hairs there. “You would know, Georgie.” He grins, winks when George just pulls back and blushes, shoves him away, mumbles something Joe can’t quite catch but sounds an awful lot like _no shit I do_ and Joe kind of likes how that sounds.

 

****** April**

April Fool’s Day rolls by without too much fanfare, but George still manages to come out of it with a black eye, two broken fingers, and a concussion from Perconte and Bull’s skateboard prank gone wrong.

The one that wasn’t even meant for him.

“Hey.” Tab knocks against the doorframe, pokes his head into George’s room. “I’m running out for some stuff, need anything?” He asks, tries to smile as George winces from the bed where he’s propped up against the headboard.

“Nah, I’m good.” He waves off Tab’s concerned look. “Thanks, though.”

“You sure?” The other man asks, takes a step into the room, tugs at his bottom lip with pinched fingers. “I think the swelling’s…not gone down.” He makes a face. “Let me get you the icepack before I go.” And he’s gone before George can stop him. He sighs, stiffly rearranges himself against the pillows and mummifies his legs with the comforter, glances out the window to his right as rain starts to _tip tap tip_ against the rusted metal of the fire escape.

“Here.” Tab strides through the door, one of Tipper’s gel ice packs from when he had his wisdom teeth pulled in one hand and a daisy printed dish towel in the other. “Hold it there for an hour or so, it really shouldn’t look that swollen still.” He bundles the towel around the icepack, hands it to George.

“Thanks.” He mumbles, presses it to the side of his face with his good hand and leans back. “Better take the umbrella, it’s starting to rain.”

“Will do.” Tab smiles, gives a gentle touch to George’s arm. “Call if you think of anything, yeah?”

George nods, closes his eyes as Tab leaves, pulling the door halfway closed behind him. He hears him searching for the umbrella that’s perpetually picked up and moved around their apartment, is about to yell to tell him where it is when he hears Tab curse, assumes he’s found it in the cereal cabinet where George last saw it.

Tab’s gone entirely a few minutes later and George settles into the quiet of the apartment, sighs in tandem with the pattering of the rain and low distant rumble of thunder, switches hands holding the wrapped coolness against his eye and face and begins to doze.

Sometime later he jerks awake at the clanging ring of metal on metal, looks around his room blearily, notices how much darker it is with the rain coming down in curtains outside. He untangles himself from his sheets and manages to get his legs over the side of the bed, reaches down to pick up the long since melted glob of icepack from the floor where it must have fell. He dumps it on the corner of desk closest to his bed and stands, feels every major joint protest and the various bruises dotting his body throb. He shuffles into the hallway in his boxer briefs and hoodie, knuckles at his good eye as he flips on the living room light.

“Tip?” He calls, doesn’t get an answer, notices his backpack missing from the hook by the door, Tab’s shoes still gone, too. He sighs, continues on towards the kitchen, sets about making a cup of coffee with instant crystals and a splash of the closest liquor to take the edge off from his swollen face. And hip. And knee. He flips the lights off as he shuffles back to his room, stops dead in the doorway.

“Got a towel in this joint?” Joe asks, kicks off his shoes and bends over to pull off his socks. George just stares, feels the steam from his over microwaved mug tickle at his chin. “Luz.” Joe quirks an eyebrow, wipes at the rain water dripping down his forehead.

George jolts a little. “Yeah, sure.” He waves his hand with the broken fingers. “Hold on a sec.” He turns back into the hallway, manages to get the narrow door of their linen closet open with one handicapped hand and pinches at a towel. He kicks the door shut, shuffles back into his room, flings it out for Joe to catch as he pulls the door shut behind him, navigates around the other man to sit his coffee down on his desk.

“Uh, Joe?” He asks, lowers himself down onto the edge of his bed with a wince, glances over his shoulder at his now cracked open window. “Whatcha doin’?” He tries to ask as nonchalantly as possible.

“Hm?” Joe hums as he pulls his shirt over his head, lets it land on the floor with a wet smack.

George looks at him with his good eye as though he’s grown a second head. “It’s not a holiday.” He states stupidly, watches as Joe’s pants join his shirt. “Why are you here?” He enunciates clearly, maneuvers around until he’s back under his covers, propped against his pillows watching the strip show before him.

“I know it’s not a holiday, the last one almost killed ya.” Joe quirks his lips, completely avoids the question as he towels himself dry. “Got any pants I can borrow?”

George nods at his desk chair and the pile of clothes there, watches in silent wonder as Joe rummages through it, pulls at the leg of George’s favorite gray sweatpants. Joe shimmies into them, grimaces when he looks down at his exposed ankles before picking up George’s mug from the desk, takes a drink from it as he steps up to the bed.

“Shove over.” He flicks out a hand.

George just stares at him, idly thinks he should find something else to do when faced with Joe Toye and his many facets.

“That concussion knock some shit loose or somethin’?” Joe quips, gestures impatiently for George to get with the program, waits until he finally does before pulling the covers up and sliding in next to him. “Bout time.” He huffs, jars the bed as he twists and wiggles to get comfortable, somehow manages not to spill the coffee.

“You’re aware this is a twin sized bed, yeah?” George asks slowly as Joe’s hip and leg settle right along with his, their bare ankles touching.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ know, it’s tiny as shit.” Joe gripes without any real heat, ropes a gentle arm around George’s shoulders. “Here.” He holds out George’s mug, waits for him to take it before reaching out his other arm to flick on the small lamp placed precariously close to the edge of George’s desk. “Everything in here’s tiny, Jesus.”

“Hey.” George objects with a small grin, squints against the dim golden glow of the lamp. Joe whistles when he looks at him.

“Damn, Luz.” He makes a face. “Gettin’ beat with an ugly stick would be an improvement.”

George reaches up with his bad hand, hovers his broken pointer finger over the swollen skin of his face, prods gently at the edges of his eye with a small hiss. “Yeah, well, cast iron metal fuckin’ hurts.” He huffs. “Doesn’t give any, either.”

Joe snorts, shakes his head. “No shit.” He reaches out to take George’s wrist, gently twists it to examine the splinted fingers. “How long for these?”

George purses his lips, takes a drink of coffee. “They said about six weeks, but Roe says he can take ‘em off in four since the breaks look clean. And if I promise not to do anything stupid for a bit.” He rolls his eyes.

Joe side eyes him, lets his fingers slide from George’s wrist. “Like falling down two flights of concrete stairs and into a bike rack?”

“Yeah, exactly.” George huffs. “That wasn’t my fault, I was the fuckin’ victim and you know it.” He grouches, gestures wildly with his mug. “Wait until I can actually kick someone’s ass again, Joe, Frank and Bull are gonna get it, I swear to god.”

“Pretty sure they’ve been taken of.” Joe assures him, snags his mug to steal another sip. “Lip practically ripped ‘em a new one. Well.” He pauses, cocks his head in thought. “As much as Lip can rip into someone, I guess. Gave ‘em a stern talkin’ to with Ron lookin’ on over his shoulder. We all thought Frank was gonna piss himself.”

George gives a weak bark of laughter, settles himself into Joe’s side when it’s clear the other man isn’t going anywhere, feels the arm around him curl tighter. “When’d all this happen?” He asks, furrows his brows in thought, comes up with blanks, reclaims his coffee.

“While you were back in the ER. Everyone was out in the waitin’ room, Malarkey called everyone who couldn’t make it.”

“Oh. That’s nice. I think.” George says lamely, then, “Joe, the fuck you doin’ here? What…” He trails off, gestures at their outstretched legs and shared cocoon of sheets and blankets. “What is this? I mean it’s nice, I’m a cuddle whore as much as the next guy, don’t get me wrong, but. I just don’t get it.”

He feels Joe shrug, watches him look at everything in the room but him, watches in silent fascination as his cheeks glow faintly pink. “I haven’t seen ya in a while.” Is what he eventually mutters, rakes a hand through his hair.

George smiles, winces when it scrunches up his one cheek. “Is the mighty Joe Toye actually admitting he’s missed me?” He teases, pokes at Joe’s chest with his mug.

“Fuck off.” Joe rolls his eyes, can’t hide his grin. “We all had midterms and then those stairs fucked you up and everyone’s been talkin’ bout ya, figured I had to see it for myself.” He shrugs.

George blinks at him. “So comin’ in through my bedroom window like a cheap parody of a Beatles song is how chose to do your looksee? In the middle of a hurricane?” He asks incredulously. “Ya shittin’ me, right?”

“So what if I did?” Joe quips back, cocks an eyebrow. “Made ya happy, didn’t it?”

And. Well. George’s got nothing to say to that and by the shit eating grin spreading across Joe’s face he knows it, too.

“Maybe.” George says petulantly, glares out the window as his mug’s pulled from his hand and Joe’s arm leaves his shoulders. The lamp’s flicked off and George feels the bed shake, looks to find Joe wriggling down further beneath the covers, hand reaching up to pull George down with him.

“The hell, Joe.” George gripes as his body protests, yelps when Joe’s elbow hits perfectly at one of the bruises on his ribs.

“Whoops.” Joe just says, smiles at the smack that lands on his chest. George lets himself be manhandled as gently as he’s even been and finds himself chest to chest with Joe, looking down at him as Joe grins up from his back. He’s cradled between his sweat panted thighs, the fabric warm and soft against George’s bare legs, Joe’s fingers curled into loose fists that rest in the small dip of his back.

“Well alright, then.” George hums, rests his chin on his uninjured hand on Joe’s chest, lets the other one flop over the side of the bed to dangle there uselessly.

“I’m headin’ back home for Easter.” Joe says after a long while in which he’s just watched George’s eyes flutter in various attempts to doze off while the rain continues to pour outside, the sound of it pounding against the asphalt two stories down drifting up through the crack in the window. George hums, twitches his nose to try and ward off an itch.

“Yeah?” He says quietly, feels Joe begin to knead at his back through his hoodie. “That’ll be nice.”

Joe makes a small noise of agreement as he spreads his fingers, rounds them around George’s hips, freezes when he winces. “Shit, sorry.” He apologizes quickly, moves his hands back up.

“Nah, it’s fine.” George sighs, shifts a bit. “Just don’t touch the left one, I think I clocked it on a potted plant on the way down.” He smiles a bit. Joe smirks back gently, trails his right hand up George’s spine to avoid temptation, smoothes it around his neck and jaw so as to tap his thumb against George’s lips.

George purses them against the calloused pad, closes his eyes. “Been a while since I’ve kissed anyone.” He hears himself say absently, doesn’t say the _you_ that’s right there at the tip of his tongue, feels it when Joe’s breath catches ever so slightly. 

“Me neither.” The other man confesses quietly, cautiously.  

George peeks open his good eye, finds Joe looking back at him with an unreadable expression. “Since January?” He probes, feels a tap at his bottom lip.

“Since January.” Joe whispers as George’s gaze trails to Joe’s lips, feels his hand cradle around the back of his neck to guide him down as Joe meets him halfway in a gentle press of lips that turns into two, into three, into Joe carding his fingers through George’s hair, angling his head for a deeper drag of need.

They break apart slowly, breaths heavy between them, Joe’s eyes the brightest George’s ever seen them, his own bruised and battered face reflected back at him.

“Happy belated April Fool’s Day, Georgie.” Joe says quietly, fondly, kneads at the back of his head. “Glad it didn’t kill ya.”

“Happy early Easter, Joe.” George grins, threads his own fingers up into Joe’s hair, rests his cheek on the warm expanse of bare chest beneath him, wonders when they’re actually going to talk about this thing that keeps happening between them. If there’s even a _them_ to talk about. He opens his mouth to ask, closes it, doesn’t want to ripple the quiet little piece of universe they’ve found softness in.

George instead relaxes into the warmth radiating into him from below, smiles at the gentle pull of fingers through his hair as rain continues to patter softly against the fire escape outside.

 

*********   **May**

Joe flips off his welder’s torch, lifts his helmet as he stands from his crouch and surveys the empty studio space around him. He frowns, glances over his shoulder at the door, swears he felt something like someone staring a hole into the back of his head. He wipes at his face, doesn’t even think about the amount of grease and oil already smeared there, pulls off his helmet completely as he picks his way through the various pieces of scrap metal littering the floor until he reaches his work station. He sets his helmet and torch down with a clunk, wipes his hands against the grungy gray of his wife beater as he looks over his plans, makes some small adjustments with a drafting pencil.

He looks up sharply with pinched brows when the back of his neck tingles again, scans the whole space over left to right, jumps when he looks back at the door to find George standing there grinning like an idiot.

“Fucker.” Joe accuses as he tosses a dirty rag at the other man strolling towards him, hands gripped around the straps of his backpack making him look like a twelve year old.

“Love ya too, Joe.” George grins, reaches out to poke at Joe’s thigh with a flip-flopped foot when he’s close enough. Joe swats at it, refuses to grin because he’s supposed to be in a mood, dammit.

“What d’ya want, Luz.” He tries to grump, realizes moods are impossible whenever George Luz is concerned. Which is becoming quite frequently here lately. “Didn’t think you even knew where the art buildin’ was.”

“I didn’t.” George supplies happily, slips his bag from his shoulders. “I Google walked it.”

“Jesus Christ.” Joe finally grins, braces himself up with both arms against the counter. “What d’ya want?” He repeats with a shake of his head. George stares at him for a long second, face oddly blank, and Joe’s about to snap him out of it with a ruler smack to the arm, but before he can George’s rummaging in his backpack.

“Just came to nag you for an autograph.” He quips, holds out a gaudy pink card with curly gold letters and glittery flowers. Joes stares at, then at George, then at his still splinted fingers.

“Thought you were gettin’ these off last week?” He questions, tries not to be offended by them. George snorts, props a hip against the desk with the card still outstretched.

“Gene took me back to the hospital, bitched about malpractice the whole way there. Apparently they didn’t heal right or something so he made two nurses cry and personally redid them himself when it was clear no one knew what the fuck they were doing.” George tells the tale to a wide eyed Joe. He flops the card down, wiggles his fingers up next to his head. “This fugly thing’s looking pretty good, though.” He points at the side of his face that’s still a faint yellowy shade of lavender.

Joe snorts, reaches out to keep George from fucking with his still recovering bruises. “I knew Doc had a temper, but shit.” He shakes his head. “Kinda wish I coulda seen it.”

George quickly shakes his head. “No ya don’t, Joe, don’t ever piss him off. Ever. He felt so bad afterwards he apologized to the doctor and nurses, but you could just see it in their faces, it was priceless. The epitome of don’t fuck with the dance mom, ya know?” George babbles as Joe just stands there and watches, realizes how much George actually talks with his hands.

“That what that’s for then?” Joe quirks a brow, nods down at the card. “You sendin’ them a bawlin’ apology letter so they don’t double charge ya?”

“Fuck off.” George grins, picks up the card again. “It’s for Lip.” He thrusts it towards Joe.

Joe eyes it warily. “We miss his birthday or somethin’?”

“Nope.” George shrugs. “It’s for Mother’s Day.”

“The fuck?” Joe rears his head back, eyes George like he’s finally lost it. “That concussion did knock some shit loose, didn’t it?”

“Har, har, har.” George deadpans, gives the card a wiggle. “It’s to show our love and appreciation for him as like the den mother or some shit, I don’t know, I was just told to make sure everyone signs it.”

“What about the guys who went home already?” Joe asks, begrudgingly takes the card and thumbs it open, sees little blurbs and names scrawled all over the place. “Winters and Nix booked it as soon as they were done with exams.”

“Harrassed ‘em before they left.” George says simply, picks up a sawed in half screw to toy with. “Skip and Malarkey’s had this planned since before finals week, apparently.” He rolls his eyes. “The card’s being sent with flowers since Lip’s back in Boston with Ron for a bit.”

Joe stares at him. Again.

“What?” George asks, looks up through his lashes.

Joe shakes his head, huffs as he picks up his pencil and messily writes out a little message of obscene words and signs it with genuine love for his friend. He looks up when he’s finished, eyes the small smile quirking George’s lips with a frown.

“Nothing.” George says in response to his silent question, pulls the card from Joe’s fingers to tuck it into an equally terrifying pink envelope. “That should do it.” He chirps, bends over to shove it back into the depths of his backpack, Joe’s eyes tracing the shifting shadows of his bony shoulder blades underneath his shirt.

He clears his throat, looks away when the other man straightens back up. “You stayin’ for the summer?” George asks, boosts himself up onto the desk.

Joe shrugs, surveys his mess of twisted metal and half welded pieces. “Pretty much.” He glances at George. “Dr. Carisalez asked me to TA for him, said he’d even pay me extra on the side since it’s not an online class.” He makes a face.

George hums next to him, drums the screw he’s still playing with against his knee. “Don’t sound too bad.”

“Nah, it’s not.” Joe says, finally turns to him fully. “Got a spare key to this place out of the deal. Can work on this clusterfuck since I’ll be on campus anyways.”

“I like it.” George nods over Joe’s shoulder, stares at the half-finished sculpture for a few seconds. “The fuck is it?”

Joe huffs, shoves at George’s leg. “It’s an eagle, shithead.”

George cocks his head, eyes it critically before looking warily back at Joe, opens his mouth.

“Don’t even start, Luz, you failed Drawing 1. Twice.” Joe snaps before George can even form a word, grins when George just sticks out his tongue and tosses the screw onto the table, apparently bored with it. “How ‘bout you?” He asks before he can stop himself. “Any summer plans?”

George rolls his eyes, pokes at his finger splints. “Got a sweet gig as tech support for the campus radio station.” He makes a face. “I basically get to sit in a tiny ass room all day making sure the wi-fi doesn’t crap out and the student workers don’t fuck up the sound boards too bad.”

Joe reaches out, palms at his knee. “You’ll be fine, you’ll have AC at least. Carisalez got shoved into F Hall.”

“Ew.” George scrunches up his nose. “Aren’t they renovating?”

“Hell yeah they are, they’ve already ripped out the duct work and classes start next week.” He groans, lets himself fall forward until his forehead’s boring into George’s shoulder. “It’s already hot as a motherfucker in there.” He squeezes the bony knee still in his grip, feels George nose at his temple.

“I’ll come mop ya up, how about that?” He asks quietly and Joe smiles into George’s arm.

“You do that, Luz.”

Joe thinks he feels a kiss pressed into the sweaty hairs above his ear, but George is pulling away before he can really think about it, patting at Joe’s hand still curled around his knee before sliding from the desk. Joe watches him gather up his backpack, watches him sling it on, has to stop himself from reaching out to fix a twisted strap.

George grins at him, but it seems off and he seems to know it just as Joe does.

And fuck that noise.

“Whatcha doin’ later?” Joe asks, digs in his pockets for his smokes. George eyes him as he pull them out, wets his lips as he rocks on the balls of his feet.

“Nothing I think, Tip’s gone home but Tab’s still around.” He supplies, reaches out to pluck a cigarette form the crumpled pack when Joe offers. He rolls it between the thumb and pointer finger of his good hand, waits until Joe’s lit his own before stepping into his space. Joe lets him, almost goes cross eyed watching George tuck his cigarette between his lips and press in so close the tip touches to Joe’s own, feels him puff at it to get it to catch.

They watch each other steadily as George pulls back and Joe slips a hand around his hip, thumbs at the well-worn hem of George’s tee.

“Why, Mr. Toye.” George purrs around a tendril of smoke twisting out from his mouth, coughs as it goes back up his nose. “Are you…trying…to seduce me?” He chokes out with his hand pounding at his chest as he turns to the side, coughs like a lung’s trying to come out.

Joe can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him, wraps his arm fully around George’s waist to tug him in close despite his half assed mixture of coughs and giggles. “Text Tab.” Joe murmurs as he ducks down to peck at the corner of the shorter man’s mouth. “Tell him you won’t be comin’ home tonight.”

 

******** June**

Joe absolutely refuses to sign the Father’s Day card they get for Ron, but he watches in amusement as George forges his name in the one they get for Dick before hauling him up from the floor and onto the sofa with him. George grins down at him from where he’s straddling his hips, leans forward to kiss at his neck as Joe strips him of his shirt and George’s finally healed fingers work at his jeans.

“Tab keeps lube and condoms in the armrest.” George hums against his neck, arches his back as Joe skims his fingers up it. “Fuck, he keeps ‘em everywhere in here.” He finishes with a moan as Joe palms at him with one hand and reaches above him with the other.

“Didn’t think Talbert had it in him.” Joe muses, grins wickedly when George starts to grind back against the pressure.

“Fuck.” George groans, braces an arm along the back of the couch as he straightens up to look down at Joe with galaxy blown pupils. “Him and Grant.” He gestures randomly. “All over the place.” He swallows heavily, rucks up Joe’s shirt and almost strangles him with it trying to get it off. Joe helps him bat it to the floor, grips at his waist with both hands after George takes the little packet of lube from him.

“Might need another of these.” He gives it a little wiggle, pants a bit as he tears it open and Joe works his cargo shorts down off his hips and legs. “If there’s any left, shit.”

“Tab’s like a fuckin’ squirrel.” Joe grunts as George shifts atop him. “You’ll open the freezer one day and just have a fuckin’ wave of rubbers rain down on ya.”

George laughs full from his belly and Joe grins, can feel his stomach muscles shake and contract beneath his bare hands. “Maybe, I dunno.” George grunts as he reaches behind him, twists his arm this way and that. “With how many times I’ve heard the word _daddy_ comin’ from his room him and Grant have probably fucked the place dry.”

They both freeze as soon as the words are out of George’s mouth, staring at one another in wide eyed panic.

“Repeat what I just said to _anyone_ and I will _nut bust_ you with own brass knuckles, understand?” George says as seriously as a man with his own fingers up his back end can which, Joe swallows thickly and nods frantically, is pretty fucking serious.

“Got it, got it, got it.” Joe promises with raised hands when George just continues to stare at him with an intense frown. “Not a word!”

George squints as though detecting bullshit, but resumes his prepping as Joe relaxes back into the couch, watches as George’s expression eventually smoothes back into one of pleasure as Joe runs a hand up his side.

“Would givin’ one ‘em a Father’s Day card be a bad idea then?” Joe asks a few minutes later right as George’s about to sink down onto his length, gets a smack to the forehead in reply as George lowers himself in one fell swoop that has Joe throwing his head back, cracking it against the exposed wooden lining of the still flipped up armrest with a shout.

“Whoops.” George smirks as he plants both hands flat on Joe’s abs, works his hips in a way that has Joe groping blindly for something to hold onto. “Sorry, buddy, my bad.”

Joe just moans in reply, presses a new set of bruises into George’s hips.

 

***********   **July**

July is ass backwards hot and humid, the kind that simultaneously steals your breath and melts your brain a bit. And it’s only the fourth. George’s stripped down to just his low slung cargos much like everyone else in their group with the few exceptions here and there. None of them will admit it, but Gene Roe is their personal Jesus, leaned back with his elbows perched on the picnic table behind him in cuffed skinny jeans and a black tee, Babe’s ridiculous sunglasses perched on his nose looking effortlessly cool.

Cajun bastard.

George doesn’t know whether to glare or marvel at him as he holds the platter for the burgers Dick’s flipping on the grill, Nix across from him with a marshmallow skewer rolling the hotdogs. The rest of the guys have started up a baseball game, various shirts and hats used for the bases, George and the grill masters watching from the sidelines as Bull, Lip, and Shifty set up the various side dishes on the commandeered picnic tables underneath the shade trees behind them.

“Christ, Dick, I think I just lost another pound.” Nix complains, wipes at his face with an already soaked bandana, gets an unimpressed look in return. George has to bite his lip to keep from grinning.

“It’ll do you good, Lew.” Dick imparts, pokes at a burger. “Detox a little.” He smirks. Nix flicks him off, pointedly takes a long drag from the beer in his hand and George can’t take it, has to turn away so he doesn’t lose his shit.

Looking out at the game he can’t really tell the two teams apart, everyone naked from the waist up and all unfairly attractive. Which he’s never really noticed before. Huh.

He cocks his head, watches as Bill tries to steal third base but Web’s too fast on the pitcher’s mound, twisting and striking him out in one graceful movement. George squints at the catcher, isn’t surprised to see Leib’s skinny frame crouched down in the grass. All of the outfielders are smoking, Ron and Grant not even pretending to pay attention as they stand a few feet apart, arms crossed talking about something. Tab’s throwing dirt clots at Babe’s back, looking away innocently when the first baseman swings around and swats, more than likely thinking he’s being bitten at by bugs.

George shakes his head at it all, loves the little family they’ve become since falling together freshman year when most of them started. They’ve lost and gained some over the years, but George remembers them each, old and new, wouldn’t trade any of them for the world.

“Luz.” Nix calls. “We need the thingy.”

George turns back to the grill where Nix’s gesturing wildly with his skewer as he yells something to Bull, Lip pulling it from his grasp as he passes by and hands off a stack of sliced cheese to Dick.

“Here.” Dick says, starts stacking plain burgers on the platter as he thrusts the cheese at Nix. “Be useful.” He deadpans, ignores the squawk of protest he gets as Nix snatches them from his hand and starts unwrapping. Gene appears next to him with a trash bag to catch the sheets of plastic, trading a grin with George over the grill.

“You bring that shrimp stuff?” George asks, peeks over the top of his sunglasses at the other man. Gene glances quickly at Nix, makes sure he’s distracted with his cheese and nods his head back towards the tables. “Gotcha extra back at the house.” He mumbles quietly and George would fist pump if he weren’t holding all the burgers. “You too.” Gene adds with a smirk to Dick.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The redhead mumbles innocently but his tiny smile is a dead giveaway.

“Huh?” Nix asks blankly, looks up from the half melted cheese slices still in his hands. “What’s going on?”

“Nothin’, Nix.” George says sunnily. “I’d slap ya on the back in goodwill but my hand might stick, you sweaty bastard.”

“Please don’t.” Nix makes a face as George laughs and Dick gives a huff, Gene shaking his head at their antics. “I think we’re good, Lew, you can probably toss that. Looks a little runny.” Dick motions at the trash bag with his chin as he puts the last of the burgers and hotdogs on the tray, flicks off the gas to the little portable grill Harry brought before making their way over to the shade.

“Who wants to do the honors?” Lip asks as he takes the heap of meat from George, puts it where it needs to go.

“Alright, fellas, eatin’ time!” Bull hollers before they can draw straws, hands cupped around his mouth, cigar poking out between his pointer and middle finger. He shakes his head at the stampede that starts up the small hill towards them, nudges Gene and George toward the table. “Either grab your grub now or lose a limb tryin’.” He rattles off, grabs a plate for himself.

George and Gene glance at each other, then at the melee tearing its way through the grass, grab their own plates and fall in line. Lip and Shifty trail behind, Dick and Nix bringing up the rear in case anyone throws an elbow or attempts to shiv someone with a spork.

It pays to be the matriarch and patriarch of their little family. The respect knows no limit.

George balances his plate in one hand and his drink in his other as he makes his way towards one of the numerous blankets spread out on the ground, lowers himself with only a few causalities falling from his plate. He wiggles until his ass isn’t directly on a rock, leans back against the slightly cool plastic of the cooler behind him, sighs at the small relief it offers from the heat.

The picnic tables fill up quickly as everyone loads up on food and herds themselves into groups, Skip and Penk plopping down across from George, Malarkey almost dropping his plate as Babe cuts in front of him to beeline towards Gene.

“Puppy love.” The redhead scoffs as George takes his plate so he can lower himself to the ground, hands it back at the other man’s nod of thanks.

“They’ll figure it out.” George grins, glances over at the small crowd of Babe, Gene, Tab, and Grant taking up another blanket, Babe complaining loudly as he pokes at his reddened arms only for little white fingerprints to appear and disappear just as quickly. George doesn’t need to be on the blanket with them to hear Gene’s lecture on the merits of sunscreen, can see it in the affectionate frown and gentle way he stops Babe from slapping at himself much to the complaints of Tab and Grant.

“Yeah, when a truck runs over one of ‘em with a giant ass billboard broadcasting the obvious on the side.” Skip rolls his eyes, takes a bite of pasta salad as Penk chuckles next to him.

“Losers got any more room over here?” Bill asks as he steps around Malarkey’s legs, doesn’t wait for an answer as he makes himself a spot between Penk and George. “Eh, Joe!” He hollers, waves a hand in the air. George meets Joe’s eyes as he comes up behind Skip, grins as he shifts a bit and nods at the empty space next to him. Joe shakes his head as he trails around them to come in from the back, lowers himself down as George takes his cup for him, drinks from it as he settles in.

“Freeloadin’ bastard.” Joe takes it back, grins around his own little sip. George just shoots him a wink, stuffs his face with Gene’s magic shrimp salad concoction as the others talk around him, gossiping on about anything and everything like little old ladies on a Sunday afternoon.

“Luz, here.” Joe says sometime later, props his cup against George’s hip as he uses his shoulder to push himself to his feet. “Watch that for me. Want anything?” He quirks a brow, jerks his head toward the food table.

George offers up his own cup. “See if there’s any lemonade left? And get me a brownie.”

“Yeah, yeah, me too!” Skip shimmies his shoulders, grins up at Joe. “Like, three.”

Penk points at himself as well as he chews and Joe stares at them, face incredulous. “Anythin else for you infants?” He huffs, pointedly looks at Bill and Malarkey as though daring them to say something.

Bill holds up a finger, gestures for him to wait as he swallows. “Yeah.” He licks at his lips. “A fuckin’ pickaxe for that chip on your shoulder!” He laughs, Penk choking on his drink as Malarkey and Skip devolve into fits of laughter. George joins in with them, leans around Bill to slap heartily at Penk’s back as Joe flicks them off and marches towards the buffet, gets stopped by Perconte halfway there.

“Toye, man, I’m tellin’ ya.” Bill shakes his head as their laughter dies out. “He’s been somethin’ else here lately.”

“What do you mean?” Malarkey asks, glances at Joe’s back with furrowed brows. “Something going on?”

Bill makes a face, pokes at some residual potato salad on his plate. “His family’s been givin’ him shit for stayin’ here for the summer, wanna know what’s goin’ on.”

“Is he supposed to go home or something? Is that like a…thing?” Skip asks, squints as though the idea is truly too baffling to understand.

Bill shrugs, thumbs at his temple. “Nah, nothin’ like that. His ma thinks he’s hidin’ a girl from ‘em.” He sighs with something like frustration in his voice.

George feels himself grow very still where he sits, eyes wide.

“What?” Malarkey barks across from Bill, shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous, man, we’d all know it if Joe was fucking with some girl.”

“Or boy.” Penk shrugs from his spot in the circle and George swallows, wonders when the hell they actually became the gossiping type, wonders when the simile became a reality.

“Oh, please.” Skip throws his hand up in a careless wave. “Joe doesn’t know how to date, he’s the fuck ‘em and chuck ‘em type.”

“Hey.” Bill says sharply, points a finger at the blonde. “Don’t matter none, he’s always a gentleman about it.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No.” Bill cuts him off. “Joe knows how to be decent, he was raised good. Whoever he’s been seein’ has apparently been around a while.” Bill imparts with a finger still poised. “And a dude.” He finishes with a shrug, adds wind speed to George’s internal whirling hurricane of horror.

Malarkey scoffs, fixes Bill with an unimpressed look. “How do you know?” He asks with a serious looking Penk nodding along with him.

“Simple. I live with the guy.” Bill grins, nudges at George’s shoulder with his own. “And there ain’t been no panties lyin’ around our place.” He wags his eyebrows with a smirk.

Skip and Penk burst into another round of laughter and George opens his mouth to speak, has to clear his throat just to get words out. “So what about his family?” He hears himself ask, picks at the blanket by his knee. “Why’re they mad?” He looks up to find Bill frowning at him, doesn’t know what to expect.

“His dad’s a real piece of work.” The other man says, frowns at nothing in particular. “Doesn’t understand the whole bisexual bit, but his ma does, or at least tries to, bless her, but his dad?” Bill pauses, shakes his head. “I’d like to clock him one right in the face.”

“Ah.” George says stupidly, glances up to find the others with neat little O’s for mouths. “He ever?” George starts, stops. “Ya know?” He makes a loose fist with his hand, holds it up, holds his breath until Bill shakes his head no.

“Joe’s never said anythin’ like that.” He tells them quietly. “Just that he’s always raggin’ on him, callin’ him names and shit. Tries to set him up on dates when he’s home with all his friends’ daughters.”

George stares at him blankly, thinks back to February, comes up with a booze glazed memory of Joe’s boxed up expression as he explained some boringly beige paint blind date before punching a guy’s face in for attempting to defile George’s honor.  

“Fuck.” He sighs, hears it echoed around the group by Skip and Malarkey. “I wouldn’t go home either.”

“Yeah, well.” Bill shrugs. “He does anyways, which is why it’s weird he’s hangin’ round here so much. Normally he’d be home by now, comin’ back for all the shit he forgot since he’s just a few minutes out.”

“You think it’s someone we know?” Penk’s face is one of absolute glee as he perks up in his seat, stares at them with wide eyes. “Think he’s keeping it in the fam? Tappin’ one of us?”

Skip boos at him, throws a leftover piece of hotdog bun at his face. “We’re not that incestuous!”

“Uh, yeah, we are.” Malarkey deadpans, pointedly looks over his shoulder at Lip and Ron, Winters and Nixon. “We mate from within.” He snorts.

George himself glances over at Tab and Grant, knows he’s one of just a few in on their secret, Joe now included. And because of Father’s Day, of all things. He feels his face redden at the thought, picks up Joe’s cup from his side to crunch at the leftover ice melting at the bottom for something better to do besides panic.

“I don’t know.” Bill muses lightly at his side, rubs at his chin. “Who would it be? Everyone’s kind of already matched up, ain’t they?”

Skip twists at the waist, scans across the numerous picnic tables and blankets spread out around them. “Liebgott and Webster are out, they’re too busy jerking each other around by their dicks. Both metaphorically and literally.”

Bill cackles as Malarkey slaps at Skip’s head, hisses at him to lower his voice.

“What? I’m right, right?” Skip rubs at his temple, turns back to the group at large. “Let’s see…there’s Shifty, but I just. No. Just no.” He shakes his head, frowns. “Hoob? Skinny?”

“Fuck no.” Penk snorts. “Try Perconte, maybe Cobb. They’re both tiny.”

“The fuck does that have to do with anything?” Malarkey leans around Skip, fixes the other man with a face.

“I don’t know, Joe just seems like the type to throw ‘em around.” He shrugs, holds his hands up in surrender with pursed lips.

“Yeah, yeah, can it ya assholes, here he comes.” Bill mutters, reaches out to slap at Penk’s hands as Skip twists back around, wiggles his eyebrows at Malarkey. “Bout damn time!” Bill hollers, plasters on a grin as Joe gets closer. “Ya get lost?”

“I’m laughin’ on the inside, Gonorrhea, truly.” Joe deadpans, holds out George’s cup for him. George stares at it, feels like he’s blown a fuse somewhere inside as he processes everything that’s just transpired. “Luz.” Joe taps at side of his head with the cup.

“Oh.” George says belatedly, reaches up to take it with both hands as Joe lowers himself back down by his side. “Thanks.”

“Whateva, eat your brownie.” Joe rolls his eyes, sits a napkin wrapped wad on George’s knee before reaching behind him and plucking George’s pack of smokes from the cooler top. “Ya got ya lighter?” He asks, places a cigarette between his lips and looks at George expectantly.

He just stares back, blinks, vaguely hears Skip and Penk start bitching about the whereabouts of their own baked goods, vaguely hears Bill shut them up with a slap and some creative cursing.

George swallows, glances down into the pastel yellow depths of his cup as he digs in his pocket for his lighter, pulls it out with oddly numb fingers. Joe takes it from him gently, watches him curiously as he flicks the flame to life and holds it to the end of his smoke, puffs it at until it catches. He offers it back, but George just waves him off, instead reaches out to pluck the cigarette from his lips only to put it between his own, inhaling deeply and relishing in the stinging burn that singes his lungs.

He attempts a smile for Joe as he passes it back but he’s too focused on the little looks he can see Bill and Malarkey shooting them from the corner of his eye, how they both look to Joe, to the brownie stash on George’s knee, to George himself as though trying to find a series of dots to connect.

George squashes down the rising tide of panic in his chest, internally wonders hysterically why he’s even panicking in the first place, ignores the little voice in the back of his mind that’s been there since May telling him he knows exactly why.

“I miss somethin’?” Joe mumbles into his ear when it’s clear something’s shifted in their group dynamic, Skip and Penk going on like normal but Bill and Malarkey still watching them covertly, little smirks tucked into the corner of mouths.

George swallows hard, pokes at his brownies. “Not a thing, Joe.” He doesn’t need to look to know Joe’s frowning at him, can feel it against the side of his head. “Not a thing.”

 

********** August**

As melodramatic as it sounds, George wonders if this is what being quit cold turkey feels like. Wonders when he became a bad habit that needed to be shaked.

He tells Lip as much and gets a sad smile in return.

“You’re not a bad habit, Luz.” The other man reassures quietly next to him, pats at his leg like the giant, clucking mother hen he is. “Things happen, people change.”

“Yeah.” George huffs, kind of wants to push Lip off the fire escape. “That’s called finding a new hobby.”

Lip rolls his eyes, takes one last drag of their shared cigarette before handing it over to George, watches him puff at it half-heartedly. “Luz.” Lip tries, stops, really thinks about what to say. “You and Joe.” He sighs, all he can come up with, feels a little embarrassed by it, knows George can see it on his face when he tries to muster up a grin. Fails spectacularly.

“Me and Joe.” George sighs as the first low rumble of distant thunder sounds across the city. “I don’t want to say we were doomed for failure, but.” He twists his lips wryly.

“Can you really call it a failure if it wasn’t even a thing?” Lip counters gently.

And, well, ouch. That kind of fucking hurt and Luz tells him so. “Ron rubbing off on you or something? I want my cuddly mama bear back, please and thanks.”

Lip snorts, shakes his head. “Ha ha.” He deadpans, rolls his head to crack his neck. “You said it yourself, you two weren’t even dating you were just…hooking up, right?”

Yeah, okay, he has a point, those words did leave George’s mouth. “I guess. It started out as just fucking around, literally, but then…I don’t know. Feelings happened?” George makes a face, looks at Lip helplessly.

“There’s a difference between fucking around and hooking up?” Is what the other man asks, face scrunched up adorably in confusion. George sighs, slumps in on himself.

“No. Maybe. That’s not the point.” He pinches at his nose, exhales roughly. “My point is that I haven’t heard from him in over a month and I don’t know what it means and it’s pissing me off.”

Lip looks up at the stormy blue black sky, hums slightly in thought. “Sounds like dating to me.” He points out absently. George huffs, finishes up the cigarette, flicks the butt down into the alleyway below as the first few sprinkles of rain begin.

“I don’t know, Lip.” He sighs. “We talked and stuff, I thought we were friends, but after what Bill was saying…I feel weird.”

“How so?” Lip murmurs quietly as heat lightning flashes overhead.

“Like.” George starts, stops, has trouble translating his inner turmoil into words. “I’ve always thought Joe wasn’t straight, right, like we all kinda assumed freshman year when he and that McClung kid came falling out of that supply closet in the dorms half naked and shit.”

Lip snorts at the memory and George can’t help but grin, too. “He’s never really denied it when asked, but he always brings girlfriends to parties and stuff, so when New Year’s happened and then kept happening it was always just sex but then something changed and…” He trails off listlessly, looks at Lip for guidance. “Should I feel mad, like he’s been using me, or embarrassed because we kept it a secret?”

Lip makes a face, looks just as lost as George feels. “Do you actually feel like any of those things?” Is what he asks after a moment’s thought, quirks an eyebrow as George rubs at his face in frustration.

“No, not really.” He says, knuckles at his eyes. “I think I’m just confused by everything and how it just happened so fast and now there’s nothing and…I confused myself.”

“Not exactly hard to do, Luz.” Lip elbows him, attempts a smile. “If you want my honest advice—”

“Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.”

Lip sighs, side eyes George in exasperation. “My advice is that this just sounds like Joe going home to work out some things and that when he gets back you two should sit down and have an actual conversation about what you’re doing.”

George perks up, words ready on his tongue, gets silenced by one of Lip’s signature pointed looks. “One that doesn’t devolve into sex halfway through.”

“Makes sense.” George deflates, looks down to play with his fingers in his lap, swings his legs back and forth where they dangle off the fire escape. “But what if he doesn’t want to see me when he gets back?” He asks so quietly a few minutes later thunder threatens to drown him out.

Lip watches him softly, threads and arm around his shoulders to tug him closer, noses his unkempt mess of hair. “Don’t know, Luz, but sitting around feeling sad for yourself isn’t going to help much.”

Luz opens his mouth to argue, lets the words die in his throat because Lip’s right, they both know it. He’s always right. “OK.” He sighs, leans into the warm, reassuring weight of the arm around his shoulders and Lip’s body next to him. “I’ll put on my big boy pants, just for you, Lip. I’ll make mama proud and be an adult about this.”

“Jesus Christ.” Lip huffs, gives George a little shake. “Only you, Luz.”

“Yeah, I know.” George smiles, finally content with himself for the first time since Joe’s out of the blue message days after their Fourth of July blowout. He’s still not entirely sure how to interpret the rather abrupt text of _hey goin home for a bit don’t wait up see you around_ that greeted him the evening after a rather adventurous morning of secret shower sex, but, well.

With Lip’s willingness to sic Ron on Joe should things go south and Tab’s secret stash of Haagen Dazs in the back of the freezer, George thinks he’ll be alright. Maybe. For the most part.

 

*********** September**

Joe finds him on the fourth floor of the library, face down in an open tech manual, Starbucks cup still firmly clenched in hand. Joe can’t help but grin at the sight even as he swallows nervously, eyes Lip and Grant warily as he edges closer towards the table. Grant’s head bopping along with whatever’s playing through his headphones so it’s no surprise it’s Lip who spots him.

“Hey, Joe.” He smiles warmly, glances quickly at the unconscious pile of Luz. “Have a good rest of your summer?”

“Yeah, yeah, it was nice, I went home for a bit.” Joe tries to smile, feels more like he’s grimacing. “Had to take care of some things. You?”

Lip shrugs, shifts his stuff around. “It was good, stayed here mostly.” He gives another little pointed look at Luz. “Classes going okay?”

Joe winces, runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m Carisalez’s TA again, it’s been keepin’ me pretty busy.” And it’s not a blatant lie, exactly, especially since its three weeks into the semester and his classes are actually doing stuff now other than sitting through syllabuses and introductory getting-to-know-you lectures. Lip sees straight through his shit, fixes him with a glare worthy of a honey badger that has Joe biting at his lip. He suddenly knows what it feels like to be a sinking ship, can officially commiserate with the Titanic.

“That’s great, Joe, money at least.” Lip remarks flatly just as Grant jerks in his seat, pulls off his headphones.

“The hell was that for?” He hisses, pushes his chair back to reach down for his shin, finally notices Joe. “Oh.”

“Yes, well, I think we’d best be off, right Chuck? We’ve got class across campus in a bit.” Lip explains, packs up his stuff as Grant just nods, grabs at his own mess of pens and papers. Joe winces, kind of wants to dig himself a hole. To preferably die in. Alone.

He shifts awkwardly where he stands, acknowledges the heavy pat that Grant lands on his shoulder when he pushes by, holds his breath without realizing it when Lip stops in front of him, fixes him with a _look_.

“I like you, Joe.” Lip says quietly. “And I’d rather not pick sides, but I will if it comes to that, understand?”

Joe swallows, nods.

Lip smiles, glances over his shoulder at the still sleeping George. “Good.” He nods, winks, edges around Joe to disappear into the stacks. Joe watches him go, glances down at himself to check that he didn’t actually pee a little bit before shuffling up to the table. 

He slings his backpack into what was Lip’s chair, settles himself down into the seat next to George, turns to face him. He watches the easy rise and fall of his slumped back for a few minutes, eventually reaches out to pull his coffee cup from his hand.

“Luz.” Joe says quietly, runs a hand through the other man’s hair. “Luz, hey.” Joe massages at his scalp. George grumbles into his textbook, lifts his head with effort, brings a page up with him.

“Didn’t take ya for a drooler.” Joe smirks, reaches out to poke down the page as George rubs at his face, side eyes him warily.

“The hell did you come from?” He rasps, looks around blearily, frowns when he sees it’s just the two of them tucked away in the quiet little corner of the library. “Where’d Lip and Grant fuck off to?”

Joe makes a face, props an elbow on the table. “Said somethin’ about class across campus.” He parrots back, knows it’s a lie just from the look on George’s face. “I’m guessin’ they don’t?” He quirks a brow.

George huffs, stretches his arms overhead, winces as the pops from his shoulders echo in the small space. “They do in like two hours from now.”

Joe hums, watches as George slowly wakes up, idly moves his stuff around on the table for something to do, pointedly ignores him.

“Luz.” Joe says eventually, watches as the other man slouches in his chair. “Look at me.”

George does, with an expression Joe can’t quite place. “What do you want, Joe?” He asks bluntly, voice devoid of his usual humor.

Joe purses his lips, squints in thought. “How’ve you been?” He throws out, knows it’s the wrong thing to say before he’s even shut his mouth. The other man sighs deeply with a world weary sense of exhaustion too ancient and heavy for his young soul.

“Joe.” He starts, slumps in on himself. “I’m tired and cranky and your shit right now isn’t helping so what do you want?”

Joe opens his mouth, snaps it shut as George bolts upright in his chair, hands gesturing wildly.

“And I don’t mean like right now, in this instance, I mean in general, alright?” He babbles, turns to face Joe fully. “The fuck are we doing, Joe, huh? We’ve been hooking up for months, okay, and sometimes it feels like maybe it’s more than that, but then you just fucking up and disappear and then _poof!_ ” He jazz hands, frowns intensely. “Here you are again.”

“I’m sorry.” Joe spits out, feels himself flush under the other man’s strict scrutiny. “I had…there was some stuff I had to take care of.” He says quietly, feels George’s eyes bore into the top of his head when he looks down to pick at the hem of his jacket.

George huffs, roughly reaches out to flip his book shut. “I’ve had a shit week so far, Joe, alright, now isn’t the time...” He trails off quietly, tiredly. “Maybe this isn’t the time for…whatever this is.”

Joe licks his lips, reaches out to rest his hand on the worn denim of George’s thigh. “I just wanted to see ya.” He confesses softly, the fluorescent humming of the lights above deafening by comparison. “I had to see ya.”

George looks at him long and hard, face stony in a way Joe’s never seen. “Why?” He asks after an agonizingly long time, arms folded tightly against his chest. “Aren’t you tired of me yet?”

Something inside of Joe stops cold at the seriousness of George’s words, at the lack of mischievous spark in his eyes and the firm line of his lips. Joe furrows his brows, tries to piece everything together, realizes he’s missing half the box.

“What?” He asks, rears back in his seat, slips his hand from George’s leg. George shifts uncomfortably, brings his hand up to bite at his thumbnail, shrugs.

“You heard me.” He states quietly. “Figured you were just too chickenshit to tell me to my face.”

“The fuck you talkin’ ‘bout, Luz?” Joe spits out, bristles at George’s small bark of emotionless laughter, at the steely glare that’s fixed on him.

“I’m talking about us, Joe, what is this to you, huh? Am I an embarrassment, are you scared to be with me or something because of your dad? Why is this the first time in over two months I’ve seen you at all?”

“The hell, Luz.” Joe fires back, feels his temper flare. “What does my dad have to do with anything? And an embarrassment, really, when did you start worryin’ ‘bout shit like that?”

“When the guy I’ve been fuckin’ for the better part of a year just up and leaves, tells me not to wait around for him, and just goes fuckin’ radio silent, Joe, that’s when.” George hisses violently, glances over his shoulder at the rows of shelves behind them to make sure no one’s there to witness their fallout. “The fuck did you want me to think?” He snaps as he grabs at his things, stuffs them viciously into his backpack.

Joe smacks his hand down on a notebook, stops him dead in his tracks. “I had to take care of some stuff, alright?” He snaps out. “Stuff with my dad, which apparently you know _all_ about.” He accuses with a narrow eyed glare.

George fixes him with an unimpressed look, sharply tugs his notebook free. “You can thank Gonorrhea for that.” He deadpans, zips up his bag in silent finality as Joe attempts to rein in his anger. George pushes away from the table, rips his jacket from the back of the chair, jerkily puts it on. “All you had to do was explain, Joe.” He explains heatedly, gets to his feet, shoulders his backpack. “I would have listened, you didn’t have to cut me off like some cheap side piece only good for a few fucks.”

“Fuck ya, Luz.” Joe spits out, pushes himself up and out of his own chair, crowds into the smaller man’s space. “Quit paintin’ yourself the victim and grow a set.” He growls, regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. George’s face flickers through stages of hurt as he staggers back a step, bites at his bottom lip as he looks off into the stacks.

“We finished here?” He asks thickly, clears his throat with pinched brows. There’s a million things Joe wants to say to him, wants to take back, wants to fix, but he’s already allowed the little animalistic part of his mind to take over, to back itself into its fighting corner.

“Yeah.” Joe sighs, forces himself to step back towards the table, ignores the trembling of George’s chin, his white knuckled grip on his shoulder straps. “Yeah, we’re done.”

George nods once, refuses to meet his eyes as he disappears into the depths of the library without a backwards glance. Joe lets him go, feels his anger recede back into him like the ocean before a tsunami, hands and arms tingling with it, building up until the next big crushing wave.

 

************ October**

Joe’s not nervous. He’s not. He’s just bored, picking at the already peeling label on his beer bottle while some two-bit actress screams from the TV. Web laughs at the cheesy horror music that starts up, the rest of the guys joining in when the jarring sound of a chainsaw roars to life. Joe swallows hard, glances down at Bill at the other end of the sofa, at Lieb and Web on the loveseat, at the back of Babe and Gene’s heads where they’re on the floor in front of the coffee table.

Fuck it, Joe’s nervous.

The sounds of the movie dip into what Joe supposes is a suspenseful lull, but Babe and Lieb chatter through it, poking fun at the movie, the actors, at each other. Joe clutches his bottle like a lifeline. 

“I’m fuckin’ Luz.” He blurts out, freezes in his seat, braces for impact.

“Ya are or were?” Bill grunts, eyes never leaving the screen. Lieb stares at him in what he refuses to think of as shock, Web wide eyed next to him, Babe twisted around and gaping like a goldfish. Gene just glances at him over his shoulder, brow quirked in curiosity before his attention’s pulled back to the TV by another pitchy scream.

It’s what snaps Joe out of it. “The fuck you mean _are or were_?” He barks at Bill, fixes him with a _look_ as Lieb snorts, gets a reprimanding smack from Web.

“What d’ya mean what do I mean?” Bill grunts, finally tears his attention away from the TV to look at him. “Kinda figured you two were a thing back in July, but then with all these girls ya’ve been shufflin’ through here the past month I figured shit went south.” He shrugs.

Joe just stares at him incredulously. Bill quirks an eyebrow. “So.” The other man reasons. “Ya either still are or ya were.”

Joe purses his lips, finds himself suddenly the center of attention, movie apparently forgotten. Lieb’s faded into an expression of bored expectation, Web perked up next to him looking like some bleeding heart good samaritan ready to counsel. Gene just eyes him with a solemn pinched brow look of concern.

Babe opens his mouth, no doubt to spew his special brand of reassurance, gets cut off by Bill. “Cat’s outta the bag, Joe, start talkin’.”

“What d’ya want me to say?” Joe huffs, eyes them all warily, Bill particularly. “Apparently you’ve been talkin’ enough for me, tellin’ everyone everythin’.”

“The hell does that mean?” Bill snaps, twists in his seat to face him fully.

“It means that Luz knew all about my dad, Bill, thinks I’m too chickenshit to actually date him.”

Bill opens his mouth to argue, seems to think better of it, turns a little pink in the cheeks as he fiddles with the remote, turns the volume down a bit. “I, uh, may have said that you were havin’ some problems.” He shrugs sheepishly.

“Gee, Bill, thanks, next time I need ya to fuck somethin’ up I’ll call.” Joe snaps just as Babe clears his throat pointedly.

“Uh, Joe?” He asks meekly, raises a hand for some reason Joe can’t quite guess at. “It actually sounds like ya maybe didn’t help when ya just up and left?”

Joe gapes at him, hears Bill snort in amusement from his end of the couch. Gene’s slowly shaking his head, eyes closed as Babe babbles on.

“It just sounds like maybe ya should’ve explained things better, ya know, rather than blowin’ up.”

“How—”

“Are ya gay or not?” Lieb cuts in with a smirk, Web’s horrorstricken face next to him worthy of the forgotten movie still playing on without them. Gene just continues to shake his head silently, Babe next to him practically cross eyed from trying to side eye both Joe and Lieb simultaneously. Joe looks to Bill, gets an unhelpful shrug in return.

Joe swallows, feels his eye twitch. “Maybe.” He says slowly, tentatively, pointedly doesn’t meet any of their eyes.

“Joe.” Lieb sighs, leans forward enough in his seat so that the springs of the loveseat creak and squeal. “It don’t matter, alright, not to any of us. And you don’t even have to label it if you don’t want, but lyin’ to yourself is the worst thing ya can do.”

“I’m not.” Joe defends himself quietly, hates how small he sounds. “I’m not, I’m just…” He trails off, makes a face as he plays with his bottle. “Not straight.” He finishes lamely.

Lieb snorts. “Congrats, join the club.”

Babe releases a nervous titter of laughter as Joe sums up the courage to face them, finds Lieb with a small but genuine smile on his face, Web and Gene watching him softly, too. Bill shuffles down the empty cushion between them, throws an arm around his shoulders.

“See? Ya just upped the Kinsey in the room, but we still gotcha, right?” He laughs, gives him a shake.

Joe smiles a bit, lets himself be side hugged even as he fixes Babe with a glare when the redhead beams at him. “Don’t think ya gettin’ off that easy, Heffron, spill.” He accuses with a quirked brow. Babe swallows, inches closer towards Gene.

“I, uh, well.” Babe trips over his words. “I may have been in the library?” His voice pitches higher and higher with each word.

Joe just stares at him. “What.” He deadpans against the backdrop of Lieb’s laughter.

“I’m sorry, Joe, really, I am!” Babe gestures frantically, almost clips Gene in the face. “I was around the corner and I kind of just heard everything and I caught Luz on the way out, to make he was alright and stuff, ya know, and he kind of just went off…” He trails off helplessly. “I wasn’t bein’ nosy, I swear!”

Joe continues to stare at him which only seems to spur him on. “All he said was that he understood, kind of, but he wished ya would’ve talked to him about it and I think he thinks he fucked it up and there was somethin’ about a bad habit?” Babe pauses for a breath, shakes his head. “Seemed like he felt really bad about the whole thing and he said he was havin’ a pretty shitty week…a pretty shitty start of the semester, really.”

Joe nods, makes a face, remembers George saying something about it before they really got into it, opens his mouth to ask but it’s Gene who turns in his seat, fixes Joe with an unreadable expression.  

“Sobel.” He says quietly and they all collectively wince a bit. “Lip’s got the whole story, but it sounds to me like Sobel’s got it out for Luz, won’t sign off on completion papers or class approvals…sounds like he’s purposefully messin’ with his schedule.” Gene explains quietly in his slow Cajun drawl. Lieb shakes his head with a grimace, Web agape next to him, looking like how Joe feels.

“Ya shittin’ me.” He huffs at Gene, gets a serious frown in return.

“We was lucky.” Gene looks solemnly at each one of them. “We only had to stand his bullshit freshman year, but Luz? Sobel’s his program advisor…and he’s fuckin’ him around.”

“Don’t even know what he’s doin’ and he teaches all the intro classes.” Babe adds in with a grimace. Joe shrugs off Bill’s arm still hooked around his shoulders, deflates back into his seat, thinks of his cushy life as a studio art major.

“Guess I didn’t help any.” He remarks quietly, feels like shit all over again.

“No one’s blaming you for figuring yourself out, Joe.” Webs speaks up, apparently recovered from his shock. “If anything that’s something to be proud of.” He smiles encouragingly when Joe tilts his head to look at him.

“So ya both cracked.” Bill pipes up. “So what. Say sorry and move on, get back together. Clearly he means somethin’ to ya if ya tryin’ to fuck him outta ya system.”

Lieb snorts, tries to cover it with a cough. Joe looks up at the ceiling, finds shapes in the odd swirls of plaster, knows Bill has a point, knows that’s exactly what he’s been trying to do since that day in the library when shit just hit the fan big time.

Knows he’s being the exact chickenshit George accused him of being.

“Ya know.” Babe says quietly, curiously. “You and Luz? I can see it.”

“Right?” Bill chuckles, slaps at Joe’s leg. “Shoulda seen ‘em at our Fourth of July bash, like a old married couple.”

“Nah.” Babe shrugs, fixes Joe with an appraising look. “Winters and Nixon’s got that covered. Lip and Speirs is like… _Beauty and the Beast_ or somethin’.”

“Seriously, Babe?” Lieb huffs, rolls his eyes.

“What?” Babe snaps back. “Lip’s like Belle and Speirs is Beast and Lip helped humanize him or somethin’, I don’t know, okay?”

“That make you a dancin’ feather duster?” Lieb smirks, gets a pillow to the face.

“Then there’s you two.” Babe continues, points heatedly between Lieb and Web, uses Gene as a shield when his pillow’s lobbed back at him. “Dysfunctionality at it’s finest.”

“Hey, the sex is great, don’t knock it till you try it.” Lieb grins, relishes in Web burying his face in his shoulder to hide his groan of mortification.

“Then me and Gene here, well.” Babe grins, eyes the dark haired man next to him almost shyly. “Clearly I’m the dark, broodin’ mysterious one and stuff.” Gene rolls his eyes but there’s a grin on his lips and something soft in his eyes when he looks at Babe, the ginger blushing slightly in return.

“I think what this idiot’s tryin’ to say,” Bill picks up when it’s clear Babe’s lost track of his point, “is that you and Luz? Ya just work.”

Joe eyes him suspiciously, waits for the catch.

“I’m serious.” Bill says quietly, firmly, as honest as Joe’s ever heard him. “NASA can do the science, figure you freaks out, but when ya got somethin’ that works, that’s easy and makes ya happy?” He trails off, shakes his head almost fondly. “Ya don’t let that go, Joe. Ya keep that around as long as ya can, ya hear?”

Joe stares at Bill staring at him, feels himself swallow as he nods, jolts at the clap Bill lands on his shoulder. “Yeah.” Joe licks his lips, looks to find the others pointedly staring at the TV in an attempt to give them an illusion of privacy. “Yeah, I hear ya, Bill.”

Bill hums in approval, slings an arm along the back of the couch and shifts until he’s comfortable. Joe rolls his eyes and huffs for show but lets himself be pulled into the comfortable warmth of Bill’s side, feels fresh and light for first time since the middle of July when he thought going home had been a good idea.

“The fuck we watchin’?” Bill eventually asks when it’s clear the movie they started out with isn’t the one flashing across the screen. “The hell is this shit?”

“It’s _The Nightmare Before Christmas_.” Lieb says quietly, eyes glued to the TV.

“But it’s Halloween.” Bill argues, gets booed at by Babe.

Lieb shushes them, Web too when he tries to pull Lieb closer. “It works for both holidays, get some culture you assholes, now shut up.”

Bill snorts but lets it go and Joe can’t help but eye the way Lieb and Web tangle themselves together on the sofa, or the way Gene and Babe lean in close, their fingers no doubt knotted together on the floor between them.

Joe catches himself watching them more than the movie, finds himself selfishly wanting what they have with every passing minute.

 

************* November**

They bump shoulders on an empty sidewalk in a whirlwind of autumn air and still half-green leaves that refuse to give up their final days of summer.

Joe rears back, looks up from his phone with fire on his tongue, freezes at the sight of an equally startled George Luz in front of him. Three cars pass by as they stare at one another, the last of which honks, the passenger hanging out the window with a muffled shout that has George snapping into action. Joe steps back as the other man bends over, the tails of his scarf flapping in the breeze as he retrieves the book flopped down onto the ground between them, its spine staring up at them as though an expectant witness.

“Sorry about that.” George attempts a smile as he straightens back up, crams his book underneath his arm, crams his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t see you.”

Joe shrugs him off, fiddles with his phone. “My fault, I was doin’ this.” He gives his cell a wiggle, smile rueful as he takes in George’s wind tossed hair and pale face. “Gonna kill me someday.”

George’s lips quirk in a ghost of a grin. “Everyone’s got to die from something, right?” He remarks a bit too pleasantly, rocks on the balls of his feet, clearly ready to continue on his way. Joe frowns, wipes at the chilled tip of his noise as he agrees absently with a hum.

“Whatcha up to?” He asks, makes at face at his own blatant attempt at small talk. “Whatcha doin’ these days?”

George deflates across from him, hunches in on himself as the wind chill picks up. “Not much, school and work and stuff.”

“You still at the campus station?” Joe asks, braces himself against the wind, refuses to give into its biting nip. He doesn’t know how to feel about the surprise that flits across George’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, I am.” George confirms, expression odd. “Got bumped from the graveyard shift to the evening shift, which isn’t much better, but at least it’s still daylight when I get there.” He shrugs, shivers.

“I’ll have to tune in sometime.” Joe offers. “They got you on the air yet?”

George fixes him with another odd expression Joe can’t quite place. “Nah, they haven’t found the goods, but give it time.” He tries to grin, shakes his head, looks down to kick at a leaf that flutters across the ground between them. “No one would listen to me, anyways.” He adds absently. “My mom always said hell would have to freeze over before she’d listen to me amplified.”

Joe snorts at that, can’t help the smile the blooms gently on his lips. George peeks up at him, quirks an eyebrow.

“She probably meant it in terms of karaoke, but I think the general idea was for all forms of broadcast.” George quips again, grins like he actually means it. Joe watches him quietly, softly, feels a bone deep pang of longing deep in his chest.

“Which I’m running late for, so.” George steps to the side, teeters like he’s ready for takeoff, hesitates as though wanting Joe to stop him. Joe doesn’t, can’t, feels his throat close off without his permission. George fixes him with a look, a sad little thing with equal parts regret and sympathy. “Good seeing you, Joe.” He says softly, lips once again ghosting into an illusion of a smile.

Joe just nods at him, licks his lips, rubs at his jaw, allows his body to pivot in order to follow George’s movements, allows himself to follow the sun after so many weeks of darkness.

“Luz!” He calls out when the other man’s halfway down the street, voice sharp yet muffled in the thick autumn air. George swivels around mid-step with the proficiency of a marcher, looks at Joe expectantly. Another small herd of cars pass as Joe stares at him, musters up his moxie, forces himself down the street.

“I’m sorry.” Is what he says as he comes to a stop in front of the shorter man. “For everythin’.”

George purses his lips, looks down as he once again bounces on the balls of his feet. Joe watches him, opens his mouth to say more, doesn’t get the chance.

“Me, too.” George squints up at him, face scrunched. “I was an asshole and I shouldn’t have been.”

Joe’s shaking his head before he’s even finished. “You’re weren’t an asshole, that was me, okay?” Joe catches his eyes. “I was dealing with some stuff and instead of tellin’ you ‘bout it I just cut ya off and that was a dick move.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I coulda talked to ya ‘bout it, yeah, I know, but c’mon, Luz, when have I ever wanted to talk ‘bout myself, huh?” Joe rolls his eyes, makes a face. “I know ya would’ve listened and I appreciate that. I respect that.” Joe confesses quietly. “And one day I wanna tell ya everythin’ that’s happened, but until then I just…” He trails off, makes a frustrated noise as his words all jumble together inside.

George takes a careful step into his space, looks down as he moves in close, close, closer until the tips of their boots are touching. He looks up with a gentle smile and kind eyes.

“Joe.” He states, shivers against the wind. “There’s only one thing I’m worried about right now and that’s whether or not you’re happy.”

Joe frowns at him, gestures uselessly off to the side. “Like, right now or in general?”

George huffs, his breath a warm tickles against Joe’s chin. “With yourself.” He clarifies. “Are you happy with yourself?”

Joe feels himself flush as he glances down at the conjoined tips of their shoes, rubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah.” He mumbles, doesn’t even have to think about it. “Yeah, I am.” He glances back up, sees George open his mouth. “Except for one thing.” He cuts him off, steels himself as George frowns at him. “I miss ya, George.” He confesses, feels himself flush further.

George just stares at him blankly until the words sink in, his cheeks appling pink beneath his eyes from the force of his smile. “I’ve missed you, too, Joe.” George admits shyly, scrunches his nose in embarrassment, face red from more than just the wind.

Joe can’t find it in himself to mock him when his own face looks the same. “Wanna grab a drink or somethin’ tonight after ya get off?” He tries, prays his nerve holds out. 

“Yeah.” George agrees easily, ducks his head. “Where do you want meet?”

Joe watches him quietly, can’t help but grin. “How ‘bout I pick ya up from the station and we can go from there?”

George shrugs across from him, clears his throat. He’s still pink and perfect looking. “Sounds good.”

“Good.” Joe grins, reaches out to touch at George’s arm. “You can tell me ‘bout your plans for Thanksgivin’.”

George huffs out a laugh, rolls his eyes as he steps away. “Two way street, Joe.” He imparts, shuffles backwards down the sidewalk as though afraid to let Joe out of his sight. “Can’t wait to hear what you’re thankful for.” George grins cheekily, swivels right around just as he had earlier in one graceful movement and hurries along, head down against the wind.

Joe stares after him with a shake of his head, reins in the _you_ violently wanting to burst out of him.

 

************** December**

George feels eyes on him as he packs his suitcase, grins to himself. “Can I help you?” He peeks over his shoulder, quirks a brow at Joe laid out on the bed. The other man looks up from the book he’s reading, knows he’s been caught if the sheepish expression on his face is anything to go by.

“Nothin’.” Joe mumbles, snaps his book shut with a pout. “Just watchin’ ya pack.”

“Jesus, Joe, you look like I’m heading off to war or something.” George shakes his head, shuffles over crawl up onto the bed, to crawl up onto Joe. George straddles his waist, looks down at him with a fond smile, plays with the strings of his hoodie.

“You’ll see me again in, like, two weeks or something. I’ll be back for New Year’s.” He reminds him quietly, watches Joe watch him. “You could be coming along with me…” He trails off with a smirk.

Joe groans, massages at George’s thighs on either side of him. “Ya know I can’t.” He laments. “Ya know I already promised Mama Guarnere I’d be there for Christmas and that is a woman ya do not fuck with, Luz, I’m tellin’ ya.”

“So I’ve heard.” George grins, pats sympathetically at Joe’s chest. “I’m glad you’re going home with Bill, though, that you’ve got a place there.” He confesses. “I know Thanksgiving was nice for you.” He adds quietly, pointedly doesn’t bring up the fact Joe’s no longer welcome in his own home.

Joe grins up at him, runs his hands up to grip at George’s hips. “It was nice. Crazy, but nice.” He teases gently. “Bill’s ma is great, we all loved her growin’ up even when she was smackin’ at us with a wooden spoon for pilferin’ cookies before dinner.” 

George laughs, sways side to side with it. “I’ll take your word for it.” He remarks, grows quiet as he runs his hands over the well-worn fabric of Joe’s sweatshirt. “Just know my offer still stands, whenever you need it.” He glances at Joe, finds the other man’s dark eyes trained unwaveringly on his face.

“How ‘bout if I don’t need it, but just want it?” He asks quietly, seriously, and George feels his heart stutter. He swallows around the lump in his throat, watches as his own fingers trace idle shapes into the broad expanse of Joe’s chest, feels something inside him slow to a stop.

“You’ll always be welcome at home, Joe, my mom’s practically in love with you and she’s never even met you.” George says quietly, smile soft as he meets Joe’s eyes. “I know we’re…figuring this out and she knows that, but.” George shrugs, makes a face, isn’t quite sure how to finish.

Joe takes pity on him, shifts until he can sit up, loops his arms around George’s waist. “We’re doin’ what works for us, okay?” Joe ducks his head to catch George’s eyes. “I know we did this whole thing kinda backwards, but I wanna meet ya ma, Luz, and I wanna meet ya family and it’s just kinda our thing, ya know?”

George eyes him skeptically. “What is?” He questions.

Joe shrugs, kneads at the small of his back. “Just goin’ with it.” He explains, grins at the dubious look on George’s face. “We just…work together, Luz.”

George huffs, wipes a hand over his face as Joe pulls him forward into his chest, trails his hands in paths up and down his back. George nuzzles into Joe’s neck, relishes in the pocket of warmth he finds there, the lingering scent of his cologne. He closes his eyes, knows they’re far from perfect, can’t find it in himself to want it any other way. He thinks back to May, to that day in Joe’s studio, Joe’s grease smeared face pinched in concern over George’s still broken fingers, feels constellations of thoughts and feelings merge into one glowing galaxy, a blinding supernova building at the center of it.

George pulls back slowly, resumes his earlier toying with Joe’s sweatshirt strings. “Hey.” He quirks his lips, waits until Joe’s looking at him in fond exasperation. “I love you.”  

Joe pauses in front of him, eyes wide and hands fisted into the back of George’s tee. George just smiles, drops the fraying strings to cradle to either of Joe’s face. “I’m not expecting you to say it back, I just wanted you to know.”

“George.” Joe starts, pauses, licks at his own lips. “I—”

“Joe.” George stops him with a thumb on his lips. “Go home with Bill, have a great Christmas.” George shakes his heads, keeps Joe from interrupting. “Then you come find, okay?” He grins, taps once more at Joe’s lips.

Joe opens his mouth to argue, knows exactly what George is doing, feels his words die on his tongue at George’s expectant look. “Okay.” He agrees quietly, gently, knows just as much as George does that he needs time to figure himself out first before anything else. He falls forward, rests his forehead against George’s own, wants desperately to kiss him. George takes mercy on him, threads his fingers into the fine hair at the nape of his neck, pulls him back upright with a shake of his head.

“Joe Toye.” He states with a soft grin and wonder in his eyes that has Joe smiling back despite himself.

“George Luz.” He counters, grips tighter at George’s back.

George just watches him fondly, rocks forward to plant a kiss to the tip of Joe’s nose. “Merry Christmas, Joe.”

 

*****   **January**

Joe’s careful in his attempt to get out of bed, knows full well George’s single size twin is out to get him. He’s quick to let covers drop as soon as he’s free, knows George hates it when a draft needles its way into his cocoon of warmth. Joe shakes his head fondly, tugs on the first pair of sweats he finds on the floor. The door creaks only marginally when he edges it open, slips out as quietly as he can.

Grant’s already up and moving about the kitchen, coffee brewing in the pot on the counter. They exchange early morning nods, wait side by side as the Black & Decker does its job. Outside the tiny kitchen window the sun is barely cresting the top of the neighboring building, snowflakes glittering like confetti in the muted morning glow.

The coffee maker sputters once, twice, finally decides its done. Joe motions for Grant to go first, watches him fix two cups to some pretty specific details. Grant just shoots him a look as though daring him to say something, shuffles out of the room with a mug in each hand. Joe watches him go,  grabs a mug for himself he fills to the brim, sips at on the way back to George’s room.

It’s easier getting in than it was out, the door snicking shut softly behind him as sits his mug on the desk, slips back underneath the covers to a whining George.

“Dammit, Joe, don’t you understand the concept of sleeping in.” He complains even as he rolls himself into Joe’s arms, burrows into his chest. “You didn’t even have to pee, I listened.”

“Luz.” Joe sighs, hides his grin in the cow licked mess of George’s hair. “That’s just weird.”

“You’re weird.” George counters, voice muffled against Joe’s chest. “I bet you got coffee, drank like not even a half of it, and now it’s just sitting on my desk getting cold.”   

Joe just purses his lips, feels George shake against him as he laughs. “I’m fucking right, aren’t I?” George pops his head up, face still soft with sleep despite his bright eyes. He looks over Joe’s shoulder, spots the steaming mug, grins triumphantly.

Joe snorts, pokes at George’s face as the other man struggles to free an arm from his sheets for retaliation. “George Luz.” Joe laments, smacks back at Geoge smacking at him with a grin. “I don’t need this kind of negativity in my life.”

“Fuck off.” George laughs, tries to wet willy Joe singlehandedly. “You love me.”

Joe winces against the finger in his ear, reaches up to pull it out with a grimace. “Yeah, I do. God help me, but I do.”

George’s beaming at him when he looks, silhouetted in the early morning light finally peeking in through the window behind him. “Happy New Year, Joe.” He mumbles softly, tangles their fingers together between them.

“Happy New Year, Georgie.” Joe smiles, presses in close until their lips meet in a single soft press that turns into two, into three, into four. George just smiles into the kisses, knows it’s gonna be a good year.


	2. [Outtake - October]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George’s October went a little more differently than Joe’s…

George laughs loudly, tries to throw an arm around the neck of the guy grinding against him from behind. He somewhat manages, shoots a half assed thumbs up to a worried looking Lip across the room.

George may or may not be completely shitfaced.

“I fucking love this song!” He yells as a heavy handed remix of _Monster Mash_ blares out of the speakers, struggles to turn in the grip on his hips, manages to get both arms around his partner’s neck. He’s met with an equally drunk grin, the hands on his hips inching lower and lower as they grind, George’s head thrown back as he attempts to sing along.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” Someone says into his ear, forces some distance between George’s own writhing body and the man leeched onto him. “Why don’t we get some water into you?”

George squints, doesn’t try to fight as he’s pulled from the dance floor, his abandoned fling for the night yelling curses after him. He looks up, trips over his own two feet at the sight of Ron’s clenched jaw and towering form. Gawks at how people just move out of the way for him. He’s pushed and prodded until he’s upright on a bar stool, a worried looking Renee pressing a cool glass of water into his hand.

He stares at it blankly.

“I’ve never seen him like this.” She raises her voice at Ron, winces against the background noise of the Halloween party raging around them. “Is he okay?”

George misses Ron’s response, just stares intently at his glass of water, tries to feel its energy through his hands, giggles when he realizes what he’s doing. Something lands on his shoulder.

“George, hey, you okay?” Lip stoops down to see his face, brows pinched with worry. George just smiles back at him, wavers on the bar stool, feels another something land on his other shoulder. “Luz.”

“M’fine, mom.” George giggles out, tries to wave off his friends, watches as his hand just flops uselessly on the bar top. “Oh my god my bones are gone.” He observes wide eyed.

Renee snorts, reaches out to grasp at his hand with both of her own. “They’re still here, George, I promise, right underneath this fluffy stuff.” She kneads at his palm, smiles reassuringly when he just eyes her suspiciously.

“Come on, buddy, let’s get you home.” Lip squeezes at his shoulder, motions something at Ron.

“Wait a sec.” Renee straightens up, lets George have his hand back to study closely as she turns for something behind her. “Where would Peter Pan be without this?” She smiles, places a little green felt hat on George’s head at a jaunty angle, straightens up the bright red feather on top.

“I fuckin’ love you.” George hears himself slur, slumps forward onto the bar, grins like a dope. Renee laughs, pecks him on the cheek as Ron and Lip pull him back up. “You were here last time too.”

Everyone seems to pause at that.

“What do you mean?” Lip asks, shoots Renee a look while Ron just mutters something about an ass glued to a bar stool.

“Ya know, last time!” George elaborates, doesn’t understand why no one gets it. “In February, when that guy with the shitty undercut and fugly shorts wanted to fuck me!”

“How do you remember that?” Ron asks with a shake of his head. “Do you even know what you had for lunch today?”

“Ron.” Lip sighs as George squints in thought. “Now’s really not the time.”

“I think I just watched porn for lunch.” George blurts out, smiles broadly when Renee just throws her head back in laughter, Lip’s own mouth twitching along with Ron’s chuckles.

“And that’s our cue.” Lip shakes his head, helps Ron maneuver George off the bar stool. “You got him?” He double checks before turning to settle up George’s tab. George weaves side to side as he stands, the hand around his bicep the only thing keeping him solidly up. Ron glares at anyone ballsy enough to wander in too close, does an admirable job of keeping George’s face from meeting the floor.

“Renee says Happy Halloween.” Lip smiles, grips at George’s other arm to help steer him through the crowd as they make for the door. “And also that you’re not the only one who hasn’t forgotten February, whatever that means.”

George giggles, looks up at Ron with a grin. “Joe punched a guy in the face.” He slurs, feels oddly proud of himself for some reason, misses the look Lip and Ron exchange. “He was tryin’ to play cupid with me, but Joe fucked him up.” And that kind of makes sense. “Then he took me home and we did the sex.” George relishes in Ron’s small bark of laughter even though Lip glares at them both.

“Alright, Luz, that’s enough.” Lip says, tries to adult him.

George rolls his eyes. “I’m not enough.” He explains, tries to gesture. “I fucked it up. Everything.”

Lip sighs the sigh of a patron saint. “You didn’t fuck anything up, Luz.”

“Toye’s just an emotionally constipated asshole.” Ron adds helpfully. George just eyes him, kind of wants to say _takes one to know one_ but still has enough self-preservation left to fear for his life. Instead he just trips his way out the door behind Lip, Ron right behind.

It’s cool out on the street in the October air, people in costumes crawling from one bar to the next in a colorful cast of characters. Lip slows them to a pause to let a group pass by only for them stop with cheers.

“There you fuckers are!” Skip shouts excitedly, reaches out to grab for George only to be clotheslined by Ron. He jerks back into Penk looking like someone just shot a puppy in front of him, George’s head tossed back in laughter.

“We’ve already hit up Bravo and Ferrando’s, The 506 was next on the list.” Malarkey’s explaining to Lip when George tunes back in, done with making faces at Hoobler. “You guys leaving?”

“Yeah.” Lip nods, jerks his head at George. “He’s ready for a bed.”

Malarkey laughs, reaches out to pat at George’s cheek. “Never grow up, Luz.” He laughs.

“I’m Peter fuckin’ Pan.” George tells him, looks at them all with confused eyes when they just laugh at him. “What?”

“Oh, man!” Skip shakes his head, navigates around them, gives Ron an extra wide berth despite the people streaming in and out of the bar behind them. “You ladies have a nice night!” He imparts, scurries through the door. Penk shakes his head but follows after, Hoobler clapping at Lip’s shoulder as he passes.

“If you guys want to come back after getting him home we should be here for a while.” Malarkey offers just as George dips violently, complains about his legs feeling like two polar bears in a snowstorm. “Bill and Babe are supposed to meet us here, Joe too, if he can get his dick out of his girlfriend long enough.” Malarkey laughs, trails off uncertainly at Lip’s look of horror and Ron’s grim faced expression.

George burps, squints at Malarkey with one eye. “You tell that asshole to keep it there.” He demands, burps once more, pukes all over Malarkey’s pristine white bell bottoms. Lip pats at his back until he’s finished, offers a stunned Malarkey an apologetic wince as he starts them back down the street.

“Disco…” George slurs out sagely, “will never die.” He giggles, Ron snorting in amusement beside him.

Lip sighs, shakes his head. “I can’t take you two anywhere.” He laments, smacks away George’s hand when he reaches up in an attempt to pat at his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on this for a while, so here it finally is! Someone, at some point, had asked me what George got up to while Joe was having his Moment and, well, as you can see it wasn't much ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to tumblr users webgottrash, caffeinehoe, and gemfyre for their enthusiasm and support, thank you for welcoming me into the fandom with open arms. Thanks to the Band of Brothers fandom as a whole for being so nice and thirsty for pretty much anything fandom related, hopefully this wasn't too disappointing for you all!
> 
> Pieces of this work removed during editing may be added in later as a second chapter, if not they will be posted on my tumblr (r-catsby) and tagged appropriately. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always deeply appreciated xx


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